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November 27 1997On occasion, I am asked: Why?
Why is it that I defend the Gorean philosophy, the lifestyle I have adopted as my own, as vociferously as I tend to do when online? Why do the things I see perpetrated on IRC, by children of all ages hiding under the guise of someone who purports to understand the philosophy, affect me so? Why does the pain of those who come to me crying for understanding after being turned inside out by someone who knew a few Gorean phrases and decided they were an "assassin" wound me so? Why do I let those who have for all intents and purposes, in the eyes of the world, turned this elegant and dangerous lifestyle into a shallow online sex game, cause me such frustration?
Indeed, on occasion I am asked: Why?
He was ten years younger than I. He and his fiancee were the first people we met and became close to when my Free Companion and I moved to the city in which we now live. We were as close as two good friends could be - in fact, I may have been able to call him my best friend, at the time. When his wife was ill, deathly ill, my FC and I spent our time in the hospital, and taking care of him. When they needed support, we were there and they for us.
He and I took college classes together, helping one another through the portions of the curriculum in which we were weak - we seemed to compliment one another. I know that were it not for him I would not have progressed as far in my schooling as quickly as I did.
I had the idea to form a theater troupe. I put many hours and much effort into this endeavor, finally gathering a group of friends who might be interested. He and his wife were, of course, among them. We spent time as I laid out my plans and the issues we would face. I laid out everything I had to the few who I trusted to help me realize this dream and bring it into reality. The one stumbling block we faced was a venue, and I placed the dream on hold until some resolution could come about. We adjourned our last meeting with my friend and his wife in possession of our minutes, with the notion that they would type them up for our next meeting.
Not long after, I received a call from him. Casually, he mentioned that he was now helping out another local theater group, just in the physical and organizational sense, and did I think that this was a bad thing? Of course I did not. He then asked me if it were all right if he were to bring some of the ideas that I had shared with them to the attention of this troupe, in order to improve their content? I told him emphatically that he should not do this. That the plans we had for our own project were still very much alive and that we would be realizing them as soon as a few issues could be worked out. The next night, I received a flyer from this troupe, being on their mailing list, advertising their next production. In it, I found my ideas, my changes, my blood and soul.
I was devastated.
The pain I felt in the fact that he and his wife had stolen my possession, as surely as if he had taken my car or my house, paled in comparison to the knowledge of what he knew when he made that phone call to me. He knew what he had done, he knew his honor as a man was sacrificed, yet he could not bring himself to be man enough, nor did he think enough of our friendship, to come to me and explain that he had allowed a terrible thing to happen. Had he done so, I may have been able to forgive him, so strong was my love for him. I later learned from the owner of the troupe that he and his wife had come to them and laid the entirety of my vision out for them, using my work to buy their way into that organization.
From the moment I opened that flyer, this man and his wife ceased to exist for me. I have not seen nor spoken to them in the years since. They are no longer a part of my world. They have been banned. My honor will not permit them to inhabit it.
He was ten years older than I. We met online, on one of the services that made up the bulk of the online world back then. He described himself as Gorean as well. He was intelligent, witty, knowledgeable and entirely likable. We soon became fast friends.
He told me of his life, his journeys and his tribulations. He was a warrior and had fought well and with honor in his war. I shared with him my struggles in the lifestyle, how much of a struggle it was to make room in my world now for both a Free Companion and a live-in slave. We laughed at ourselves and each other, as we both grew to appreciate the bond between two men who understand the complexity of such a thing. In time, I came to call him my brother. Indeed, in time, I came to love him.
We lost contact, of course, as men do. I left that online service and bounced to several others. While we did not communicate as once we did, we knew that there was little that could shake the bond that we formed. Over the years, I wondered if time was being kind to my brother.
One night, not long after the #silk&Steel began to become popular and word began to spread of what it was, I received a message from someone using his old nick. I was ecstatic to find it was he! So many years had past, and we spent many night in the channel, laughing and joking and bringing one another up to date. He became, in my opinion, an important part of the channel.
There was a woman online. The less said of her the better, but by her whispers, she caused my brother to question my actions, my word, my honor. This man, whom at one time I would have died for, soon became my sworn enemy and that of the #silk&Steel. I spoke to him of our trust, of my vow to be his brother, of the friendship of so many years that we shared. This man spoke to me of my death, at his hands. I began to take precautions in my life, as I do to this day.
His "war" on IRC eventually cost him much. His slaves left him, both IRC and face-to- face, one by one finally including the one who precipitated the whole charade. His family splintered and fractured and remains so, from the last I was aware of. He had legal troubles, I am told. Finally, in an effort to strike back at me and a few others, he attempted to forge a usenet post in my name, from his place of employment. It was traced back to him and he nearly lost his job. It was at that point he gave up and I have not heard a thing from him in the years since.
I was told then by others that I had "won" the war. Indeed, I said. However, I knew inside that I had won nothing, The truth was, I had lost.
I had lost that which was precious to me, his friendship, and I lost it many, many months before. I had lost my brother. And despite his actions, and his threats, I miss him to this day. I made a vow once, to watch his back for the rest of our lives. I am not sure how I reconcile that with what subsequently happened. I am not sure I will ever know how to do that. It is a question I will carry with me, most likely, to my grave.
I have lost much over the years to be what I am. Jobs, family, and friends. But there is no choice, I cannot live any other way. I am Gorean.
Yet, on occasion, I am still asked. Why?
Bear-
Remember, you can write Bear- at [email protected]. All letters will be read and few answered, but he might comment from time to time.