Stalking Vol 2 The Bridge of Reason HTML version

apparently finished with whatever had taken her attention away. "These flaws are categorized as
the pious, the bigot, and the obsessed."
"Three types of average people, three crappy flaws, got it. Before you go on, you’re not
saying these are the only flaws we have, as well?"
"Correct. I am saying that the most prevalent among mankind’s behavioral aberrations fall
into three types." She held up one finger for each as she said, "The pious agree without
assessment, and feel they always know what's going on. The bigot thinks he is always correct so
he ignores what he doesn’t understand. The obsessed can’t decide which way to go, because they
can’t ignore or accept events entirely." She lowered her hand, and with an effort kept a straight
face, which was akin to laughing at me: I didn’t have to ask, because we had been down this road
the day before. I was the bigot, always having to be correct and too many times to count I had
ignored what I didn’t understand about my metaphysical experiences. Maintaining my sense of
continuity, ergo sanity meant that I had a history of this behavior.
"I will warn you," she said with a fading grin, "that some of the behaviors appear to line up
with the personality types, but there is no easy rule about that. We are enormously clever at
disguising our flaws; there is no reason why a perfect secretary can’t disguise a streak of bigotry
in piety, or an obsessed dreamer can’t appear to take charge of a circumstance they may have
mulled over until it was virtually resolved. That said, everyone in every possible mix of
behaviors can have the energy to hunt their flaws, and become a Warrior to battle them."
"Why you call them Warriors?" Apparently, I said this distastefully.
"Warriors are in an endless struggle, first with hunting their flaws and then with overcoming
them. You don’t like the term because you assess it with judgments ranging from utter stupidity
to callous murderers, no different than how you have acted in professionally camouflaged
circumstances. We can call them Stalkers, if you like—that’s where they’re headed if they so
choose to go there." She leaned my way as if to whisper, and enigmatically said in her normal
tone, "You never know who you might be talking to."
Bonnie raised her gaze to look out the window with more intensity than was required to see
if the weather had changed. "For no w," she said, leaning back to face me, "make a habit of
placing your questions about behavior inside the boxes of these six categories, and you’ll
discover the answers on your own. As we go along," she said, refocusing somewhere over my
left shoulder, "you’ll also be making connections about the way you are, and you will be miles
ahead of just having organized information."
"You told me not to bother memorizing lists," I said crisply, becoming annoyed at her lack
of focus.
She looked squarely at me. "I said no such thing. I said not to be concerned, because that
would have distracted you from the key points I was making. When we’re done for the day, you
can be as concerned as you like about memorizing everything… which you have been doing at
the expense of trying to understand their connections."
"Speaking of distractions, what’s out there?"
"Nothing important." She smiled wryly.
"Coulda fooled me."
"I just did: I wanted you to know what your concerns are doing to your ability to grasp
what’s in front of you."
"Like what?" I challenged her, thinking she meant right now.