A tall tale in the spirit of cosmic Americana, absurd wisdom, roadside mysticism, and the sacred art of not taking yourself too seriously.
Nobody knew exactly where the Great Bearz Signal Cirque came from.
Some claimed it rolled out of the Rockies one autumn morning pulled by albino moose wearing velvet saddles.
Others insisted it simply appeared whenever humanity became dangerously serious.
The official explanation, posted on a weathered sign near the ticket booth, read:
“The Great Bearz Signal Cirque materializes whenever
reality requires recalibration.”
Below that, someone had scribbled:
“And free pizza.”
Both statements were true.
The Cirque occupied an impossible valley hidden somewhere between Nevada, Pennsylvania, and a forgotten corner of the collective unconscious.
You couldn’t reach it with GPS.
You had to arrive accidentally.
Usually after taking a wrong turn while searching for something else.
Love.
Meaning.
Coffee.
The last known location of your reading glasses.
At the center of the circus grounds sat the legendary podcast pavilion.
The headquarters of the world-famous, questionably educational:
Bearly Audible Podcast
Its hosts were as famous as they were unreliable.
Bearly Dan, the panda.
Big Ounce, the polar bear.
One spoke in riddles.
The other spoke in snack-related metaphysics.
Neither possessed formal credentials.
Yet somehow governments, philosophers, truck drivers, cryptozoologists, and retired librarians all listened religiously.
The bears broadcast twenty-four hours a day from a stage built entirely from reclaimed carnival rides and fragments of abandoned radio towers.
Their slogan was simple:
“If it makes sense, we’re probably doing it wrong.”
Around them swirled a civilization of clown-gnomes.
Not ordinary clown-gnomes.
These were Signal Gnomes.
Tiny beings devoted to maintaining what they called:
The Frequency of Joy.
Nobody knew exactly what the Frequency of Joy was.
Scientists failed repeatedly to measure it.
Musicians kept accidentally discovering it.
Children heard it all the time.
Most adults forgot where to listen.
Every morning the Signal Gnomes climbed the mountains surrounding the valley carrying brass tuning forks, accordions, and suspiciously powerful espresso machines.
Their mission:
Tune reality.
One Tuesday morning—which happened to be occurring simultaneously in three different decades—Bearly Dan noticed something troubling.
The Joy Meter was dropping.
The giant machine stood near the midway.
Part carnival attraction.
Part cosmic instrument.
Part waffle iron.
Its needle usually rested comfortably between:
“Delighted”
and
“Ridiculously Delighted.”
Today it hovered near:
“Concerned.”
“That’s not good,” said Bearly Dan.
Big Ounce adjusted his sunglasses.
“Could be worse.”
“How?”
“It could say taxes.”
The gnomes gathered immediately.
Tiny faces wrinkled with concern.
Tiny clown shoes squeaking anxiously.
Tiny horns honking unintentionally.
After extensive investigation they discovered the source of the disturbance.
Humanity had become trapped inside a dangerous signal loop.
A frequency composed entirely of:
Arguments.
Algorithms.
Outrage.
And people correcting strangers on the internet.
The effect was spreading.
The Joy Meter continued falling.
Wildflowers stopped dancing.
Clouds became passive-aggressive.
Several mountains refused to participate in sunsets.
Emergency measures were required.
Big Ounce opened the Sacred Pizza Box of Prophecy.
Every civilization possesses one.
Most simply don’t know where they’ve put it.
Inside lay a single note.
Written in mustard.
The highest form of revelation.
It read:
“Seek the Lady of the White Airmax.”
The entire valley gasped.
Even the llamas.
For centuries the Lady of the White Airmax had appeared throughout Bearz Mythos.
A wandering figure.
Part muse.
Part messenger.
Part inexplicably athletic cosmic archetype.
Always walking.
Always moving.
Never explaining herself.
Legend claimed she traveled between realities using pathways invisible to ordinary perception.
Roads made from memory.
Hope.
And excellent calf muscles.
Three days later she appeared.
Walking directly through the midway.
White ribbed socks.
White Airmax shoes.
Crossing the circus grounds as though gravity had personally invited her.
The gnomes immediately fainted.
Not from romance.
From metaphysical overload.
She stopped before the podcast stage.
Looked at Bearly Dan.
Looked at Big Ounce.
Looked at the crowd.
Then asked:
“Why are all of you trying so hard?”
Silence.
The question hit the valley like a tuning fork.
A simple question.
A dangerous question.
The kind that sneaks past the intellect and steals your lunch money.
Finally Bearly Dan spoke.
“We thought saving the Frequency of Joy required effort.”
The woman smiled.
“No.”
She pointed toward the mountains.
The clouds.
The carnival.
The gnomes.
The bears.
The audience.
The stars appearing in daylight.
“You’ve forgotten something.”
“What?”
“Joy isn’t produced.”
She tapped the Joy Meter.
“It’s received.”
The entire valley went quiet.
One by one the gnomes lowered their instruments.
The mountains relaxed.
The clouds stopped complaining.
The wildflowers resumed dancing.
And somewhere deep beneath the circus grounds an ancient machine awoke.
The Original Signal.
The first frequency.
The one hidden beneath all noise.
The one every soul recognizes.
The one no algorithm can manufacture.
The Joy Meter surged upward.
Past Delighted.
Past Ridiculously Delighted.
Past Enlightened.
Past Free Pizza.
All the way into a category nobody had noticed before.
The needle stopped at:
Home.
That night the Great Bearz Signal Cirque glowed like a constellation dropped gently onto the Earth.
The gnomes danced.
The bears broadcast.
The stars hummed along.
And somewhere beyond the midway the Lady of the White Airmax continued walking toward another mystery.
Another forgotten frequency.
Another world in need of remembering.
Bearly Dan leaned toward the microphone.
“What did we learn tonight?”
Big Ounce considered this carefully.
Then reached for another slice of pizza.
“Reality is weird.”
“That’s it?”
“Reality is weird…”
He smiled.
“…and love might be the tuning fork.”
The ON AIR sign flickered.
The mountains applauded.
And somewhere in the darkness, the universe laughed and agreed.
-Bearz