Thank you for reading Book 1 of CONVERSATIONS WITH SASQUATCH. If you have made it this far, then you are a believer and willing to journey along into the parallel universe of Cross Over. You have looked into the stone without time and know the future holds a promise of greater things for mankind.
It is a Sasquatch saying that all barriers and all freedoms are self-created and/or self-imposed.
It is on a generous diet of courage and wisdom that all great civilizations come to be. It is even on greater courage and wisdom that they are maintained and expanded upon through certainty and vigilance.
We are the true caretakers of own souls and the soul of the world on which we live and depend. Heaven is not a place you go, it is a place you create. The same can be said for Hell.
Loquius, Master at Arms for the Council of Elders
As I descend the switchback, I cannot help but think of Ted Kaczynski, now a kindred spirit of sorts in a bizarre and opaque way. If that lunatic could survive and win over the Sasquatch in Cross Over, then I shouldn’t have a whole hell of a lot to worry about.
Maybe I’m as crazy as he was, belting out “Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, off to work I go” at the top of my lungs in this foreign reality I know very little about.
Now that I have gotten their attention, I notice that I have caused them to lose control of their raft. It is drifting sideways because someone has dropped their line. One Sasquatch has at least temporarily forgotten his duties in order to gesticulate at the strange singing human descending down upon them.
In the confusion, there is at once a frantic tug of war with the raft and its crew as it tries to spin out of control. Then with all efforts by the Sasquatch refocused on the task, my descent is being ignored. I might just as well be a pesky horsefly buzzing out of reach. I just hope a ticked off bruiser doesn’t decide to turn and give me a good swat. I don’t think I’d be likely to survive.
As I set foot on the spit of sand, the raft is being stabilized with large wooded stakes already driven to loop the ropes. With some quick overhand knots by the Sasquatch, I am suddenly once again the focus of a dozen shocked faces. For some strange reason I get the sense they are more afraid of me than I am of them.
The force of their powerful presence all turned towards me has halted my forward progress. Time as come to a standstill. Though I am not exactly afraid, I am frozen. How long we have been staring at each other with just a few feet of sand between us, is difficult to discern. Probably only seconds, but it feels like forever. The first thing that comes to mind is the stone without time. Its presence in the palm of my hand registers as my only weapon. In what seems like slow motion, I pull it from my pocket and hold up for the Towering Sasquatch to see.
“Loquius,” I say, “Loquius.”
And yes, that is the honored password in Cross Over. Their gazes turn to each other as the name registers and subdues a major portion of their fears and confusion. There is a quick paced discussion of sorts before their attention returns to the strange little creature staring up at them.
Once again, I am overwhelmed by their size. I once saw a huge grizzly stand on his hind legs to impress me with his attributes, and as big as that grizzly was, I do not believe that he’d have the courage necessary to stand up to a Sasquatch. These guys are not just big, they are big foot construction worker enormous.
“Loquius,” I repeat, trying to keep any hint of uncertainty from my voice.
Again, there is an animate discussion with hands and arms gesticulating about. There seems to be a faction of discord from two or three of the crew. The look in their eyes and their postures suggest I would be in big foot trouble if not for the vote tally being in my favor.
One of the Sasquatch separates from the group and in three long strides is towering over me. I can smell the damp hair, it’s not unlike the smell of a dog after going for a swim, not repulsive, but also not an odor of freshness.
“Oooo-de-de-do?” I am sure he is asking me a question. Such a strange sounding language, kind of like RD-D2 in Star Wars.
I only have one answer. “Loquius?” I ask and just like with the Sasquatch boy, I raise my hand to my brow and pretend to look.
Big Boy turns back to the group and appears to get confirmation from the other’s yet bewildered looks. He raises his huge arm and points at the raft, then kneels and looks me in the face. With a finger as big around as my wrist, he draws a squiggly line in the sand. He points once more to the raft and moves his finger up the squiggly line to a point where he jabs his finger in the sand.
“Pariseema,” he says. “Loquius Pariseema.”
I am caught completely off guard when his big arm reaches out and encircles my waist. I am hefted into the air like a rag doll and carried to raft where I am handed up to another Sasquatch that deposits me on a bed of fresh kenaf.
With a flurry of motion, the crew is back to work and I am on a one way ticket to Pariseema.
The river is a source of navigation and activity as we traverse the first few bends. I can see Sasquatch fishing from shore and traveling in our wake on small rafts with oars. I notice the tell-tale mounds of homes appearing along the bank and a few wolves are out pacing and barking at our passing.
The first really strange sight is that of a structure that looks similar to a middle-eastern temple. It is white and domed-shaped with spires. It looks to have borrowed its design from human engineering. Once again I am struck by the largess of the facade built to accommodate the Sasquatch instead of man.
We continue upstream and the temple structure finally fades and disappears as we wend a big bend where the river opens into a medium sized lake. Here, the ropes are coiled and huge oars are mounted as the raft is muscled out into the deep. The water is a staggering blue in contrast to the light blue, cloud dappled sky. The air has an invigorating quality that makes me want to explode with energy. I can feel the molecules in my lungs rejoice.
The lake is cradled by hills and dotted with many structures built from the same white material that dominated the temple. They look like homes you would see on the hillsides above Santa Barbara, California. They effuse affluence and importance.
At the end of the lake is a pure white city. It climbs the hillside from the shore to its pinnacle like a huge overflowing glacier. All the building’s walls are white, broken only by off-white shadows. It fills me with a sense of cleanliness that no human city has been able to accomplish. Maybe it is just the whiteness and the simple barrier of distance, but it emanates a beauty I have never experienced from a mass populace and feat of creative engineering.
The Sasquatch are once again chanting and their oars are biting the water in perfect harmony. The raft is humming along and speedily parting company with the river’s shore. I am enjoying my trip. It is like a fantasy inside a dream in which I am wide awake.
The port of entry into Pariseema is still the river, it does not end, but wends into the midst of the city itself. Here, the river’s current is lazy and the river has widened. The banks have been contained by walls of the same white material of which the whole city seems to have been built. There are Sasquatch busy everywhere along the banks in a bustling dance of activity. It is just like in any human cityscape, except there is a lack of noisy machinery and automobiles, so the city’s motion is eerily muzzled and sounds more like the hum of a bee hive than the cacophony of a place like Chicago or Detroit.
The oarsmen deftly maneuver our raft into an open stall in front of the largest building in Pariseema and tie us off. A stairway splits the river wall and climbs into a bowl shaped rotunda at the building’s base. For the moment, it is empty, but I can envision the giant space filled with cheering Sasquatch in my mind’s eye. I can imagine Loquius standing on the large staged edifice delivering profound edicts and decrees to the eager populace. I am certain this is the house of The Council of Elders of which Leeitus has referred.
My arrival, however, is not greeted by fanfare. Instead, I am abruptly plucked from my cozy bed of kenaf by a big muscled Sasquatch and deposited without comment onto the empty stairs leading up and across the empty rotunda.
The raft is swiftly unleashed and maneuvered away as the oarsmen resume there unified thrusts and chants.
I spontaneously wave and the tiller man along with a few idle Sasquatch wave back.
My climb to meet Loquius is quite cumbersome because of the radical spacing of the rotunda steps, built for the gait of a Sasquatch instead of a man with smaller strides like myself. Strangely, it harkens back to childhood where everything seemed too large in scale for my little body to easily navigate and comprehend. On the other hand, I am abuzz with a curious and awed excitement about what may be in store for a wayward human when he knocks on the huge wooden doors at the top of the stairs.
The view from the rotunda pinnacle is breathtaking. The forests roll away in a lush carpet of greens, tinged by golds and bright oranges where autumn has already touched Cross Over with an icy finger. I can smell the season’s fresh harvests in the air.
As I turn away from contemplating the scene, the doors are swinging inward and I am greeted by two columns of Sasquatch standing sentinel in an ornately living foyer. The walls are covered in climbing roses and other flowering vines of which I am not familiar. The ceiling is an intricate lattice of ropes, also covered in vines and fragrant blooms. The aroma is as intoxicating as the robust and vibrant visuals.
As I proceed into the chamber, the column of Sasquatch fall into formation behind me— two abreast. The only sounds are my footsteps on the stone floor and a slight rustle from the movement of the Sasquatch behind me. There’s almost a sense of deja vu as I continue to walk toward an arched opening framed by two more hand-hewn wooden doors.
The doors open quietly and Loquius is standing there in greeting. Behind him are several more Sasquatch that look very old. Their hair is white-silver and their faces deeply etched by the culmination of thousands of years.
“Welcome,” Loquius gestures with open arms. “Once again, you have proven worthy of being the chosen one. There is great interest as well as skepticism behind your appearance in Pariseema before the Counsel Of Elders. These are trying times for this world and yours.”
As on another occasion, I am compelled to extend my index finger and the gesture is simultaneously reciprocated with a gentle and prolonged touch by the huge index finger of Loquius. I see nods and soft smiles from the elders directly in my view.
“I took heed in you advice,” I say, “I followed the stone. I saw you there beckoning me, and here I am.”
Again there are nods from the elders.
“I believe that in your world you have a noise box called a Television,and another called a computer. In those noise boxes are many voices and pictures quite different from those you see and hear in the Stone Without Time. In your world, those electronic voices and pictures are other-determined to overwhelm and entice a desired agreement and predetermined outcome from the listener. In the Stone Without Time, the voices and pictures you hear and see are self created, they are reflections of your own mind and heart. You are here because of your own self-determined purposes that have found agreement with and in our Sasquatch universe.”
I smile. It is like a huge weight being lifted from my shoulders because I know what he has said is the truth. I weened myself away from TV years ago, and my use of the computer is limited to mostly those things that serve and enhance my abilities to be happily productive. My life has dramatically changed for the better since I am no longer bombarded with the voices and pictures of big money and media puppeteers.
“I understand,” I acknowledge. “I am not hypnotized nor subliminally directed. No one thinks for me, I think for myself. I have come to be here on my own volition.”
“Yes, your visions are your own. That is the only way the Stone Without Time can work. It has no value to those that are not pure of thought nor heart.”
I am directed into an intimate chamber and a seat near the center of a serpentine table made from a single tree. I count 13 Elders as they file in and gather with their gnarled fingers placed on the backs of their chairs. They remain standing until a nod from Loquius puts them in their seats.
Then all eyes are leveled on me and I am blasted by thousands of years of experience and wisdom. Their stares are like probing pressor beams seeking answers from the depths of the human soul.
“This day of the Ninth Moon is now in session,” Loquius announces. “I will direct the meeting from my chair as Master At Arms for The Counsel Of Elders, 9th District of Cross Over. Counsel member Maneethius has the table.”
A frail looking Sasquatch to my right stands and proceeds to an empty chair at the head of the table. He does not speak, but scrutinizes me with a soft but penetrating gaze. I do not look away. I peer back into the eyes of his soul for my own answers. What I witness is pure empathy. It is what I also feel emanating from within myself and a binding trust simply congeals between us. I know this bond of trust is more real than any words of promise that could ever be spoken.
Maneethius stands, nods to Loquius and resumes his seat to my right.
“Counsel Member, Rutheeus, has the table,” Loquius states.
Rutheeus looks to be the youngest of the Elder Sasquatch as he makes his way to the vacant chair. Though his hair is tinged in grey, he still looks muscled and vibrant. His carriage is much more challenging in stature.
“I am Rutheeus,” he growls from deep within his throat. “My name means the enforcer. I spent many, many hours with your predecessor, Ted Kaczynski. He meant well, but his mind collapsed beneath the strain and guilt he carried for the terrible state that exists in your world. Rather than tackling the responsibility to fix it, he embarked on a journey to further destroy, which in turn would bring about our destruction as well. Since those many years, we have witnessed no change for the better amongst your kind, in fact you are on an accelerating spiral down into the chaos from which our worlds were born. You are his replacement,” Rutheeus states emphatically and points an accusing finger straight at me.
No lightning bolt explodes from his hand, but I know I am faced with an adversary like no other. I know I am at a critical cross-roads in Cross Over as well as in my life as a whole. Confronted with the next to impossible task of redirecting mankind conjures up images of the old TV Series, Mission Impossible, where the task force is supposed to choose whether to accept the dangerous mission or not. In my mind, I am screaming NO! But, in my gut, I simply KNOW! I have no choice.
“I have already chosen to listen to the Stone Without Time,” I say, “to do otherwise would extinguish the essence of the man I am.”
“Then, so be it,” Rutheeus pronounces, “You are the chosen one.”
My first meeting, prior to being alone with Rutheeus, is with Loquius. He is unusually quiet as I am served tea and some biscuits that taste like crunchy cornbread. I eat greedily, having been famished after all the tensions associated with my Cross Over travels and the unusual formalities of the Counsel of Elders.
“How am I doing in your world’s eyes?” I ask Loquius in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence.
“I have cause for concerns,” Loquius confides. “How to proceed in the future will mostly rely on how and what you are able to do back inside your own world. What you do here has little to no significance beyond your conversations with Rutheeus. He is a wise and powerful Sasquatch and will guide you the best he can.”
“He seems to have a bit of a chip on his shoulder,” I reply.
“Many here have a chip on their shoulder. Unbekownste to your kind, your world is looked upon as the underworld. Some wonder if you even have brains and think that working with denizens of the underworld will be an exercise in futility. There are many that would like to see the human race extinguished altogether for the sake of our Planet Earth. I am not one of them. I view such a stance as a surefire path to becoming our own executioner.”
“Sort of a damned if you do and damned if you don’t conundrum, I’d say,” is my response.
“Yes,” Loquius nods. “On the other foot, there exists the subjective reality of hope.”
“I am not sure I can fill that role.” I respond, “I have no power in the eyes of our so called authorities. If I can’t supply them with power and money, then I am just a cog in their huge corporate machine.”
“That is why you must listen to Rutheeus. I believe his mind works in tandem to your world’s peculiar ways. We as a whole are a simple race, we have learned how to avoid the pitfalls of history and stay on the path that leads to a greater oneness with the creator and each other. That is all that you have lost. We know that ability once lived in the hearts of your predecessors and believe that it can be restored.”
“I will listen. I am not enamored with man’s current state of affairs either, but like I have said, I am just one man in a mass of billions. I am an insignificant number in the labyrinth of oblivion.”
I now recognize the Sasquatch, Rutheeus, as being one of the officials that was present at the exile ceremony of Demarcus. Though Loquius was the conductor, Rutheeus had been at his elbow. He had addressed Demarkus with several of the probing questions to which the young Sasquatch had vehemently shaken his head—no.
“It is important that you know why there are Sasquatch sightings in your world,” Rutheeus states. “These Sasquatch are exiles. These young renegades can be dangerous and will be of no help to you nor our objectives. Demarcus and those like him refused to abide by the mandates of never crossing over and interacting with humans. All of these exiles were found guilty of doing so, they illegally entered your world through the same Cross Over gateways that make it possible for you and Loquius to come and go.”
“People in our world have become enamored with the Sasquatch, “ I say, “I know of very few humans that have been harmed.”
“That is where you are wrong. Some of these exiles were guilty of snatching at least one human, sometimes more. They then brought them back here into our world. It is unfortunate and we apologize for such Sasquatch behavior.”
I remember some rumors and speculations about missing hikers and campers possibly being snatched by Sasquatch. I had never taken them seriously until now.
“So there are some humans here?” I ask.
“Possibly,” Rutheeus replies. “We have never found them, only the clues and confessions of our exiles. None have ever disclosed the whereabouts of their captives.”
“Why bring humans here to begin with?” I ask.
“There is a building unrest amongst the young. Your technological and industrial path, long watched but accepted by us elders, has brought much anger to the young. I am afraid they are becoming vocal and antagonistic to the dissonance of your mechanistic and social upheavals. There has been a noticeable bleed over of your hostilities and technological poisons into our world.”
“Yes, Loquius has said that was why Ted Kaczynski was befriended and brought to Cross Over— to enlighten humanity on the dangers of their technological path.”
“Loquius is guardian of the gateway,” Rutheeus says. “He is also our ambassador as you have come to know. He has free will to cross over into your world as he sees fit. He made a mistake with Ted Kaczynski, but has faith in his choice of you as our new human conduit. Loquius will always be available to you as guide and guardian within both our worlds. He will be your eyes and ears in this endeavor.”
“Thank you,” I reply, “his name has served me well in Cross Over. The name Loquius was a valuable password in reaching Pariseema and gaining my presence here before The Elders and yourself.”
“Very good. The Sasquatch will accept your help, just as you have accepted ours. Both of our worlds are approaching a fragile tipping point. It is our job to make sure that we do not have chaos and a repeat debacle like that created by Ted Kaczynski. It is my goal to give you some tools and knowledge to help us resolve the brewing issues that are threatening to collapse both our worlds as we know them.”
(to be continued)
Book 1, Conversations With Sasquatch, The Encounter has now been published and is available on Amazon.
As soon as I receive copies it will also be available in our Books Make Booms online store here on the website.
Mary and I are also the authors of "Sasquatch" the children's book. Your support of our endeavors to create family oriented books with values is greatly appreciated and does not go without thanks. May the force be with you, now and always.
abhor*- regard with disgust or hate
abject*- experienced to the maximum degree
Al Kaline*- Detroit Tigers baseball power hitter that batted fourth in the lineup back in the 1960's and 70's. He had many homers during that era
Anishinaabe*- Native Americans, ancestors of the Chippewa
auras*- the electrical and emotional emanations surrounding a body
beefsteaks*- an edible mushroom similar to the morel but much larger and irregular of shape, reddish brown in color
Beretta*- a brand of handgun
brethren*- archaic plural of brother
cache*- a hidden collection or store of items of some type
chiha tanka*- Native American name for Sasquatch or Big Foot
crepuscule*- the hour of twilight
DNR*- Department of Natural Resources
egress*- action of going out or leaving
Ernie Harrell*- Radio announcer for the Detroit Tigers
Giigooh na*- Native American name for big fish
kenaf*- a variety of hibiscus plant valuable for its fibers and thousands of other useful properties
largess*- generosity of spirit or attitude.
Leeitus*- son of Loquius and Loquiili.
Loquius*- Sasquatch first encountered near Big Creek, in Lewiston, Michigan
Loquiili*- Loquius' spouse
makwa*- Native American name for black bear
manifesto*- a public declaration of aim or intent
massasauga rattlesnake*- rattlesnake the north present in Michigan
Mida*- Native American name for a medicine man or sorcerer
mirthlessly*- without humor
morel mushrooms*- an edible fungi with a conical head and deeply pitted crevices
narcissism*- an excessive interest in or admiration of self, selfishness
Nawak'osis*- Native American name for marijuana
Pariseema*- Sasquatch City in Cross Over where the Temple of The Councel Of Elders resides
perchance*- by some chance
perusal*- a brief glance over
pippsissewa*- Native American name for wintergreen
Pureesis*- daughter of Loquius and Loquiili
ruminating*- chewing on
supermax*- federal prison for the most dangerous of criminals
tyke*- a small child
unequivocally*- in a way that leaves no doubt
usurp*- take illegally by force