Conversations With Bigfoot

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• Introduction
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June 19-20, 2010

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Conversations With Bigfoot - Page 2

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Humans Lost Respect...

BF:I am broken inside. I am very old. Consider those things. Consider: I could not go with you anyway.
IVES:No, no. I dont know who or what you are exactly, but you are human, you speak English...something could be done. 7
BF:Nothing in the flesh, nothing in the stone.
IVES:I want to help you. I must get help.
BF:If you wish to help then grace my words with attention. There are no accidents. You answered that you might hear and remember. You know what I am in your world.
IVES:A Bigfoot, I guess...but that doesn't matter. You would be a curiosity, but...
BF:Please hear me. As you shall understand-if my face is too pain conscious to convey it-what I have to speak is of importance to me. 8 Among my people I am a "doctor", only much different than your kind. We Ladantias, as we are known, seek the balance of things, and through the maintenance and restoration of that balance, we keep our integrities and fulfill our obligation to integrities larger than our own being. A Ladantia, therefore, must know deeply of himself and the others. As part of this learning every seventy moons, he makes The Walk. Each Walk leads to a place where life is given. This renews the energy of balance in the pilgrim. I am on The Walk, to be my last. Among Ladantias, the last Walk is considered most powerful, for knowledge has no definition until its edges are revealed. Decisions carry the weight of a life, and strike deeply. I have decided to tell you of the Priorians, as we are known. Many other humans have been told, but joined to secrecy lest there be discord. You understand that our existence is known among you; we have talked to many of your people. Joining is a power we have. It can be used for silence as well as song. And of course our mad ones reveal themselves, and occasionally we are seen. To use a joke popular with us: There is ample predication for our existence. The Priorians are not a superior people. We do not, for instance, have your minds for the beauties of metal and oil. We lack obsession. Nor do our languages have nearly the grace as some of your Indian tongues. We do have some unique powers and abilities-but what living lacks its own uniqueness? Some of our abilities would perhaps astonish you, but not for long. One of them is the ability to join things in marvelous orders and complexities and in that way create new connections to refresh the old. This, if anything constitutes an equivalent to your arts-we do not make the distinction. Because we live through those connections as we are able, our lives are magical-but we have the magicians respect for "reality", as you call it, for reality is a limit of magic, and thus a point of balance. We do not pull rabbits from a hat. But we can become rabbits. I hope my example is not too clumsy- in our languages there are no comparative structures, while in yours they are a necessity of the imagination. Our language, you understand, does not admit of metaphor and is not a metaphor itself. Sometimes it bores me.
IVES:No, I understand, really. Really it is quite astonishing. But why are you telling me this? 9
BF:It is given me to do so; I have decided to comply. Birds sing. Always in my life Ive had a weakness for speech, a foolishness that often afflicts us of the moon families. Foolishness, age, pain-many possibilities. Because my voice rises to your face. Because my voice soon finds its stillness. (pause) But also because things are bad with my people. For too long now we have lived like trout under the frozen crust of a winter lake, sluggish, suspended in ourselves. Despite our powers and small magic there is a sickness amongst us, a sadness, a grief very deep. No one knows the exact origin of this sadness. My own feeling is that it is of astonishing complexity, beyond even dream music. No doubt it breeds in our isolation, no doubt it finds fecund [meaning fertile, or highly imaginative...ed] our enforced disconnection from old springs and spirit grounds that your people now occupy. Nescomela, one of our most gifted, feels your people have maddened the earth beyond anything we might balance. Perhaps. But on this Walk there was feeling in me of a more serious sort, that our sadness is the first tremble of extinction, a blood premonition of species-death. I must explain that it is Ladantia practice to read "emotion" in the blood-I did so by opening a vein in my arm. In the bloom I saw a fish with corroded fins and the trunk of an oak tree split. And I saw most clearly a bird creature feeding on itself, its beak tearing at its own breast. Birds are the densest energy-they are like song. And among us, always, only with singing has sadness dissolved. Long ago, when your people lost respect, we learned to sing silently against our discovery. I now realize, to swallow one's songs, for they grow mad in the heart and the blood. That is what the bird creature told me in its being. There are other signs of discordance; the quality of dreaming-to which we pay careful attention-has deteriorated. And there are more mad ones. They are the ones who leave footprints and cross highways. So great is their torment they wish to flirt their existence. Two have been shot this year.
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7 An unpardonable display of chauvinism on my part.

8 His face was very composed, but not relaxed; he was obviously maintaining composure with great effort.

9 My first intelligent question. I am disappointed in myself for not having more presence of mind to ask deeper questions, but I was totally confounded by the situation.


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