Stalking Vol 2 The Bridge of Reason HTML version
I understood this to mean that the better I understood essences the larger the scope of
knowledge Phillip could offer in his communications.
"I’ll take you home," Bonnie said, getting out of the car.
I said nothing as we switched seats…the idea that she could literally know anything in the
Universe, and beyond, if that's what Saa-ra wanted her to know, was too much to grasp.
The day had been beyond tiring; as soon as Bonnie dropped me off I arranged to meet Ed at
a pub for a pick- me up, which of course is an oxymoron. The evening was brief, because our pub
dinner was heavy, and we were home earlier than a Friday night out in Vancouver usually
warranted: Ed’s newest girlfriend, Jayne, an acquaintance of my helicopter pilot friend, Paul,
was also not available. This worked out for the better, because a phone message from his brother
in Winnipeg had him packing his bags.
I drove him to the airport in the morning, before my class with Bonnie.
Ten More Minutes
Saturday’s weather was crystal clear and warm, excellent for hiking up Cypress Mountain:
Bonnie maintained that she didn’t know what the lesson was going to be, as she led nine of us up
a root-crossed trail, often stopping to point out aspects of the flora that represented energy
concentrations of a specific type.
Rachel eventually commented on these stops, saying that she had mentally begun to separate
areas of the terrain into various patchworks, like a quilt of nature. Difficult to articulate though it
was, she said this gave her a sense of being a part of the fabric of the mountain—her sense of its
enormity did not make her feel diminished. Instead, she began walking more carefully so as not
to disturb anything.
With Ed’s father on my mind, I initially paid no heed to the time or distance we were
covering while Bonnie took us up ever-steeper inclines. However, beginning with those who
were in the worst physical shape, members of the group began to ask, "How much further?" with
varying degrees of irritation.
At first, Bonnie said, "It’s been years since I walked this trail, so I’m not sure, but I think
it’s close—maybe ten minutes to clear that ridge."
Ten minutes later, and past the ridge we thought she had pointed to, someone raised t he
"I remember now," Bonnie replied confidently, "It's just over that one."
When it wasn't, tongue in cheek I suggested, "Maybe it wasn't this mountain?"
"Hmm," Bonnie seemed to contemplate the possibility. "Let's give it another ten minutes,"
she said. "I’m almost sure it wasn’t Grouse Mountain."
Had I not been focused on other matters, I would have heard a declaration: she now
understood what the lesson was about, because there was no such thing as ‘almost’ or ‘sure’ in
her world. To get away with saying "almost sure," must have tickled her pink.
We trekked for another ten minutes, as a chorus grumbled, and Bonnie again said it couldn't
be much farther.
We were not quite at an altitude where oxygen is required when we came to a huffing,
sweaty halt, and Bonnie brightly declared that we had arrived. All of us, already peeved, were
deeply dissatisfied at finding that we were in a small clearing in the forest that did not offer so
much as a glimpse of the ocean. We might as well have been in Rachel’s back yard.
"This is it—this is the lesson?" Georgio said.