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Stalking Vol 2: The Bridge of Reason


Turning away, she casually said, "Did you see?"
"I did, so I know why you couldn't explain it. I also know where I am, in your terms."
Leaning away to imply disbelief, she said, "And that has not shaken you?"
"It suited my expectations."
Bonnie examined my expression for mockery and cynicism. Seeing neither, she pursed her
lips, sitting silently. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was holding back tears.
The silence stretched.
Finally, I said, "There was something scary at the end."
"You must have focused on yourself—on your doubt and suspicion."
"I guess. I mean, I’m feeling stranded somehow. Maybe threatened is a better word."
"There is no going back to being ignorant, and you don’t know enough to act
independently," she said succinctly.
Bonnie chirped a sudden sentiment, and quickly sniffled the moment into an awkward
breath. She did not explain her apparent flash of emotion. Had I eliminated self from the
moment, I may have pieced together the underlying nature of our exchange, as in retrospect I
believe Bonnie had: My failure to be moved by a profound awareness meant I was still a part of
its contents. This circumstance flew in the face of the long-established effects of experiencing
this awareness, which was a pivotal point of transition away from one’s reasoned views.
Somehow, I had seen and still clung to the crumbling bridge of reason.
As it was, I guessed that her chirp came from an appreciation for Spirit having thrown me
into the deep end with her, now that we were both alone. K ind of.
Zzzz… I was standing inside a log cabin of modern construction, when I became aware that
I was dreaming. A man was sitting at a writing desk with his back to me; he closed the book he
was reading as I approached, turned sideways, and said, "Look."
I knew that I had met him countless times, and that I was important to him: I trusted him
implicitly, but felt little else.
I followed his gaze.
On the far wall were two projections. In one, Bonnie was weeping silently in the darkness of
her bedroom. In the other, I was sleeping on my futon.
I wished I didn’t drool.
"It has been an excellent start," the man said with satisfaction. "You have seen the ways in
which you are a cheap, petty, devious, greedy, cruel, unappreciative, dangerous, and piously
egocentric bigot. All you are missing is the recognition, and acceptance, that if you were you
patient and wealthy you would be a despot masquerading as an affable man. You have met many
such people."
"You seem pleased about it."
"It was your design. The line is remarkably thin when you can’t assess the true nature of an
event, is it not?"
"I don’t know what it is about doing that; my brain cramps at the mention of assessing
essences. I know this means I’m nuts, but…"
"We will deal with that aspect of your training in your dreaming lessons. The point is that
you represent the many who struggle through reason to express their hearts; it is beyond their
grasp how poorly they can behave. Now you know what this is like, and you can free yourself
because you can recognize fear in its infancy and dismiss it."
 
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