Cross Over is book 2 in the Conversations With Sasquatch book series. It reveals hidden dimensions and supernatural powers the Bigfoot/Sasquatch use to remain elusive to even the most devoted and skilled Bigfoot hunters. Cross Over is book 2 in the Conversations With Sasquatch book series. All the books in my book series are a combination of fact and fiction, is based on my real life Bigfoot encounters.
I am the author of many Bigfoot/Sasquatch books and a lifelong experiencer committed to exploring the intersection of the physical and spiritual realms. Through my Conversations With Sasquatch series, I seek to spark thoughtful dialogue about hidden dimensions of reality and humanities’ evolving awareness.
As a result, I have written and published several books on the subject, including: Bigfoot Parchments.
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I have certainly had my share of close encounters of the third kind. Indeed, many people have, and the existence of portals to other dimensions is becoming more and more commonplace as a result. Nonetheless, the physical still remains the focus it when it comes to Bigfoot popularity. But, I am of a different ilk. For for example, the following poem came to me via a mind-speak conversation with a Sasquatch named Loquius, my Bigfoot Guardian.
Bigfoot Names
*
In the Temple of Years
each Bigfoot birth
has it’s stone,
a permanent marker
and symbolic role
measuring strength, wisdom
or capability. The stone
is intentionally placed
and named with prayer…
it bears the weight
of all eternity.
Richard Rensberry, Michigan Author of Conversations With Sasquatch “Cross Over”
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During my Bigfoot encounters I have grown more and more open and aware of their presence in our non physical realities. Since we are prone to dismiss these communications as imaginary, I have learned to trust and not shrug-off them off as figments of my imagination. Thus, even encounters with ghosts and other entities have become more prevalent. As a result, I expect the future has some more interesting experiences and hidden dimensions readily at hand.
Excerpt from Conversations With Sasquatch, The Encounter.
Chapter 2
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 a 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 Bigfoot 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?
Over the years, I must admit, I really hadn’t thought much about Sasquatch. I’ve had no particular reason to do so. I’m a busy person, both purposeful and happy. I think little of the past and focus on the present and the future.
As I continue my trek towards Big Creek, my childhood memory of Sasquatch floods back as if a dam has burst inside my head. I find myself emotionally present in the excitement of the time, the utter bug-eyed blinking and wiping of my eyes during those fateful moments I laid eyes on him bathing in the river near my fishing hole. I am overcome with a hot flash of perspiration. Adrenalin rushes and vibrates through my body as I re-experience running helter-skelter up the bank of the river to reach the deer camp where my father is playing poker and drinking whiskey with his pals.
I breathlessly arrive as Al Kaline is stepping up to the plate with runners on first and third in the top of the ninth in a tight game against the Minnesota Twins. My dad and his pals are glued to the tinny squawk of a small transistor radio, intently listening as Ernie Harwell sets the stage for the next pitch.
I shake my father’s arm violently to get his attention and shriek incoherently about the monster bathing in the river. My dad’s eyes blink rapidly as he slowly tries to bring me into focus. When he finally registers my presence, he frowns uncomprehendingly and remains as lethargic as a toad.
“Not now!” he grumbles.
I tug and push even harder, beseeching him to come and see the hairy man that looks bigger than a bear.
“Sorry guys,” he groans, “the young tyke is always dreaming up ghosts and things that go bump in the night.”
“No!” I exclaim, “He’s really there! He’s down by the river where the sunfish are!”
“Now son, go play. We’ll all be ready to leave in a few. Right now the Tiger’s are trying to beat the Twins. Let your dad finish his game.”
Forgotten and dismissed, I am overwhelmed by the force of his rejection and disbelief. Coming from my dad, it presses down hard on my young heart. He hadn’t even considered for a moment that what I had seen could possibly be true. I was just a kid with nothing better to do than make things up. And yes, I often did make things up, just not Sasquatch taking a bath in the river.
As I neared Big Creek I shook off the memory and began my gradual descent down the ridge toward our destined meeting spot. As I did so, the hackles on my neck suddenly stood straight up and goose flesh prickled down my arms and back. Once again, the woods fell eerily silent. All my senses snapped to the present and I reflexively reached for my absent Beretta which I had purposely left in the car.
There is a term called “Dub-In”. It is derived from the motion picture industry when they put a sound track on top of something that isn’t there. In lay terms, it means a recording that is being manufactured by a recording. Unfortunately, this mechanism is how brainwashing is so easily accomplished by the fake news media. That is what they do. They feed you all manner of un-inspected recordings that you eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. You think or imagine these recordings are your own thoughts or memories, but in fact they are electronically broadcast implants for the purpose of achieving a designed belief outcome. You now have Dubbed-In false ideas, false thoughts and false memories. It works like magic. It also means just what the Parchment says, “If you don’t look you can’t see.”
Just try it. The healthiest thing in the world to do is to turn off the TV and stop the implants. Start looking.
The only person I trust to share my Sasquatch experiences with is Tecumseh. If my mother were still alive, she would be the other, but she passed on an unbelievable twenty years ago.
I meet Tecumseh at his trailer west of Comins. He lives on the edge of a Michigan State Forest he calls Tecumseh’s Reservation. For all intents and purposes, it really is his personal playground. No one else hardly ventures there and if they happen by, Tecumseh has ways of scaring the crap out of them and they seldom come back. I have had lots of laughs about his stories of city folk dropping their drawers to take a dump and then hightailing it bare-assed back to the nearest civilization.
The weather is drearily overcast, but humid and warm. I break out into a sweat as we light a fire in the stone pit that will retain a cache of hot coals for a fish fry. I have never seen Tecumseh sweat. It can be a hundred degrees with 100% humidity and he still looks cool and comfortable.
“Caught some real orange beauties,” Tecumseh offers, “you should have come with me.”
“Sorry, I wanted to talk to you about that,” I say, seeing my opening to broaching my recent encounters with Sasquatch. “I was a bit engaged. I’ve had a couple of conversations with a Bigfoot.”
Tecumseh stops what he is doing and gives me that penetrating look only a man of high virtue can give. My eyes don’t waver.
He nods, “Chiha Tanka, My Elder Brother. Did Sasquatch have anything significant to say?”
“Yes, he said the human race is blowing it.”
Tecumseh laughs mirthlessly. “The same warning I have been poking into your ears since the day we met. Do you believe him?”
“I believe you, don’t I?” I counter with a jab.
“My Elder Brother only speaks to deliver important messages about a turn of events or a prophesy of magnitude. What he says should be regarded with utmost respect. He is a special Being. He is translator and mentor into the consciousness that runs through all of life.”
“I didn’t know you had such inside knowledge.” I exclaim. “Have you met this Chiha Tanka, as you call him?”
Tecumseh shakes his head negatively. “That connection is the domain of medicine men. It is for those that guide us between the physical and spiritual worlds. I am a hunter not a healer.”
“He is troubled about man and the future,” I say. “He has invited me back for further conversations. I am eager and believe he has much more to impart to me, and, in his own words, “to my brethren”. I am a good listener as well as an astute and sensitive interrogator.”
“You are worthy,” Tecumseh replies, “but, be careful.”
“What harm could possibly come in talking to him?” I reply.
“If you should wander and get lost between this world and his, I may not be able to bring you back,” he says.
I believe I am first witness to seeing sweat on Tecumseh’s brow.
He turns abruptly to the task of melting some fat and peanut butter in his cast iron skillet. Fresh caught brook trout fried in peanut butter is a meal worthy of the gods themselves.
If there are words you are unfamiliar with or don’t know, there is a glossary of terms contained from this episode at the end of my Sasquatch webpage for your convenience. You can also find out more about and purchase my books there.
I find it very doubtful that Tecumseh would engage in a conversation with someone the likes of Mr. Smith, but just in case Mr. Smith decides to start playing rough, I am dropping by to warn Tecumseh that the weasel has been nosing around in our business.
“Ah, Mr. Smith,” Tecumseh snorts. “The man with a stone heart and a snake’s tongue. Yes, we have had the pleasure to meet.”
“So I have been informed,” I say. “What did the snake have to hiss about me and my dealings with the Bigfoot?”
“He asked me about you. Nothing was said about a Bigfoot.”
“I see. And what, may I ask, did he want to know about me?’
