I am discovering a few interesting things on the Internet. I have found that I have returned from Cross Over with two sacks of kenaf seeds, and a Google search has led me quite miraculously to a kenaf researcher just down the road in Onaway, Michigan, as well as a state of the art processor of industrial hemp and possibly kenaf in Gladwin, Michigan. This I find very intriguing, because it aligns with the third Sasquatch parchment that I am holding in my hands, it states: Nothing Is By Accident. This is an intriguing truth so easily dismissed by the weak of mind because responsibility for such an all consuming statement is hard to fathom. The parchment picture associated with this concept is an empty circle, or a zero.
I already have an intuitive grasp of this concept. I believe it means full responsibility boils down to zero. In the language of math, it is the equivalent of the denominator that cancels out every numerator by being equal to each other. In other words, taking full responsibility leaves absolutely nothing to which justifications or lies can attach themselves. The remainder is simply the truth. Nothing is by accident.
Onaway, Michigan, is the home of Kenaf Partners USA, a website loaded with information about the valuable Sasquatch kenaf seeds I have brought back from Cross Over. Unbeknownst to me, kenaf has been building a foothold in nearby Onaway for several years. The word Onaway itself is an American Indian term meaning “The Awakening”. I am certain that it is no accident that the hub for disseminating kenaf books, seeds and other information on regenerative agriculture happens to be located in Onaway and right next door to a Sasquatch portal.
The processing center in Gladwin is just icing on the cake. I am perfectly situated in the eye of the “The Awakening”.
I am wrenched from my thoughts by the rumbling sound of Tehcuseh’s motorcycle roaring up the driveway. I drop my research and hustle out the front door to meet him. It has to be something important for my friend to get all bundled-up and venture out on such a bitterly cold day to ride his bike. The temperature is in the mid teens with the first flakes of snow fluttering in the wintery wind.
“What’s up Tecumseh?” I call out over the chugga-chugga of his machine.
He throttles down and removes his gloves and googles. “We’ve got a Mita problem, my friend. Buddy Decker is on the war path. He’s forming up a vigilante posse to go after one of your Sasquatch friends he says busted up his cabin.”
“Buddy Decker?” I raise my arms in confusion.
“Ex-deputy Sheriff from Bay City. Him and his brother bought the old 405 Camp over there abutting Big Creek State land of which you are so fond. Said he saw a Bigfoot hightailing it for the trees when he arrived to open the camp for deer season.”
“I’ll be darned,” I say. “I’ll bet the pot that it’s a Squatch by the name of Demarcus. He was looking for a fight with me before my friend Loquius intervened just prior to my first trip into Cross Over. Demarcus is a rebellious sort, just recently exiled from Cross Over for supposedly kidnapping humans.”
“Now he’s gotten himself a bounty on his head. Decker was in the Party Store in Comins, talking up young Jeff Davies to get his buddies together. Decker wants them to come on out and flush-drive the woods while he and his brother set up in their tree stands along Big Creek with their rifles.”
“Give me a minute to get dressed and collect my gear,” I say. “We’ll head on down there in the truck, no need for the bike. You got your gun?”
“More than one,” Tecumseh admits.
I decide to get my Beretta out of the car and grab my lever action 30-30 rifle. The rifle is light and short, great for navigating through the woods.
“It’d be nice to beat those guys out there,” I say, “but if they happen to be there already, it might even be a good idea to drive up to their camp and volunteer for his posse. That way we can keep an eye on things, kind of mess with the works if need be.”
“You decide,” Tecumseh shrugs, “I’ll have your back either way.”