Stalking the Average Man HTML version
Breathing a sigh of defeat, Bonnie picked up my pages and placed them lightly in my
hands, as if they were ancient parchment. -Let‘s move on. Assess events you saw for their
underlying nature, and question the odds of these things happening to one person. If you do this
throughout your entire book, you should begin to appreciate how your experiences are unique by
virtue of what their totality represents. From there some of your shadow beliefs will fall, and the
extra light will shine on a purpose. | She leaned into my personal space. -Your first thirty- five
years are an extraordinary tale that you're turning into a common war story, because you can‘t
make a single leap of faith. |
-What leap is it this time? |
-You haven‘t examined any of your exquisite moments, even though you believe nothing
happens by chance; the leap is being willing to accept whatever conclusion you arrive at. |
Bonnie suddenly stood and shouted, -I‘m right here! | launching her cat into sanctuary
under the couch.
-I can still see you, | I muttered, my irritation dissolving into consternation over a crazy
woman standing as if nailed to a cross.
Dropping her arms, she said, -Would you like a Tarot reading? | as if this was a chore.
Realizing her delivery wasn‘t exactly a gripping invitation, she lightened up and added, -Just for
the fun of it. It also might loosen you up, so we can have interesting discussions like this. This
was great, wasn‘t it?"
Not until that night in bed did I fit a critical piece of my daily Bonnie puzzle together: she
was trashing my work about adapting to conflict, because she faced her days within the cozy
context of metaphysics. This meant that something bad must have happened—something
particularly cruel for her to run so far away that she needed me to filter her life through my
alleged levels of damaged beliefs, to regain her sense of safety. I was her disco ball.
Zzz: Drifting from a conversation on an El Al flight, my thoughts melted into a camera crew
eating lunch at a Kibbutz patio, which became the deck outside of the Horse & Hound. Across
the street a family was having a picnic in Hyde Park, a loin clothed jogger stopped to feed a
Chinese chow scraps, and the animal turned into a statue of a lion. A small crowd admired it
while a weeping man herded sheep into Starbucks. The aroma of coffee wafting from the kitchen
lulled me into the present.
Annoyingly, I found myself looking forward to the Tarot card reading, a feeling I
suppressed by abbreviating our ritual exchange of small talk when I saw Bonnie the next
morning. This change in our routine felt transparent even to me, but Bonnie said nothing about it
as she led the way to the dining room table.
Sitting across from each other, she said, -I'm going to deal nine cards face down in a cross
formation, then a key issue card to the side. | She handed me the deck and mimed shuffling. -I'll
turn them in order, explain the metaphorical significance, and as we go on I'll integrate the focus
of each card into the next, to refine the big picture, until the tenth one brings everything
-Dabble? | I said dryly.
-I didn't say I was sloppy. Cut them into three stacks. |