I hope this day is as warm, bright and sunny for you as it is for my Sasquatch friend and I. We have a meeting today.
Talking to a Sasquatch would probably qualify me as being a delusional schizophrenic or having some such mentally manufactured label from the Diagnostic Manual of Mental Disorders. Rest assured, I am more sane than the writers and creators of that psychiatric flap-trap. As Sasquatch said in our first conversation a little over a week ago, “humans are blind to the world of the Sasquatch.”
Exactly why I was chosen I haven’t got a clue. All I know is that today I have an appointment to meet with him once again near that auspicious cedar ridge that runs along the banks of Big Creek, in Lewiston, Michigan.
I do not take this meeting lightly. The fear that was inexplicably absent during our first encounter is in full force as I lock my Mazda and begin my traipse into the greening woods.
As always, I find myself getting unwound and relaxed by the sanctuary of the forest. There is a lush carpet of fresh moss, wintergreen and huckleberry as I begin to cut a trajectory toward the ridge where I had previously shared mushrooms with a being that claimed to be immortal. As I walk, I am suddenly struck with the notion that Sasquatch might like a bag of fresh wintergreen. I, myself, love to chew on the minty leaves, which are cool and relaxing. I kneel down, pluck a new sprout and pop it into my mouth. I then gather a few handfuls of the dark green fingers and slip them into the small Ace Hardware bag I always carry for gathering purposes. I succinctly remember Sasquatch telling me that humans had once been much more attuned to the gathering of the medicinal and nutritional gifts of nature. Is it possible my penchant for such was what had drawn this Big Foot to engage me?
I don’t know. There are doubts. I’m still feeling a bit dumbstruck and unbelieving. I have to work quite hard to suspend my recurring thoughts that Sasquatch was nothing more than a figment of my overactive imagination. Had I eaten (like some have suggested) the wrong mushroom by mistake? Was it possible I had simply hallucinated and manufactured my whole Sasquatch experience from the far reaches of a childhood memory?
Find out more about my book here.
Buy and read my novel: Conversations With Sasquatch, here.