This is an oldie, but apparently a popular one because it's stolen more often than any other piece I've penned...
***************
The Evolution of a Gorean
It's like a whisper.
"Pssssstttt.....yes, you.... come closer."
It tugs at some place deep inside you. So you watch. Who are these people? These Goreans. What is it about them that makes them somehow... different? The atmosphere is different. There is a calm... a sense of order not seen in other places. You leave thinking, "I wonder how they manage that?"
You return to your old haunts... the rooms full of chit chat. The familiar scroll seems too fast now... too... full of shallow words. These people, these friends seem so ... frivolous, so silly. Strange, where once you felt comfortable and at ease, now you feel... unsettled. The inside jokes, the "cutesy" expressions all seem so tiresome and trite. You've had a glimpse of something... deeper. The more time you spend in the places you've always gone, the worse it gets. You find the constant inane chatter annoying now. You find yourself becoming irritated over things you would've laughed at before.
Eventually, you get back into the swing of things. That feeling of unease fades to a dull twinge every once in a while. Until one day, someone enters the room. The entire tone of the room changes. It is as if it slows... calms. You can feel all eyes turned to the newcomer. The quiet that settles over the room with his presence. With a gesture or a word, those who were loud and boisterous suddenly are a bit... respectful. You recognize him. He is Gorean.
As soon as he leaves, the room quickly returns to the normal chatter. Only you do not join in. It is back... that feeling of unease. In this place where you have spent countless hours talking and laughing and sharing, you suddenly feel like an intruder. You do not belong here. But, if not here... where?
You begin to read in between visits. Eager to know more of this thing called Gor. And each time you log on, you find yourself looking for those taverns and places Gorean. The more you learn, the more comfortable you feel, and yet... you still feel like a child with his nose pressed to the glass. You spend time there, but... you are still on the outside looking in. Consumed with a burning need to know more, you scour used bookstores in search of the "scrolls." You search the web, hungry to learn, to know. You watch and study and absorb all that you can.
What is it? What is that secret "something" that makes a person Gorean? Is it the words, the terminology? You know the difference between a kajira and a Kaiila. You recognize the cities like Ar and Turia. You even get some of the Gorean jokes. You are beginning to fit in. People greet you when you enter. (You secretly get a thrill each time a slave calls you "Master.") They accept you, converse with you, and yet... there is still that distance. That silent knowledge that no matter how much time you spend there you are still... a visitor. Oh, you may call yourself Gorean, but each time you say the words, you feel a guilty twinge in side and you hear that whisper.
"Liar..."
Back to the books. There must be some... thing... some one important passage that explains it all. You just need to find it. So, this time you read. Really read all of the books instead of skipping the "boring" parts or the "girl" books. You begin to see that behind the warriors and the beautiful slave girls there is an underlying theme in Norman's work. This "natural order of things." They're not just love stories about men and women, but love for nature, respect for the truth. Ok... so now you understand.
You return to Gor, armed with this knowledge. You burn to BE Gorean. Everywhere you go, you speak of Gor. There is a need to share this passion awakened in you. You find yourself quoting chapter and verse from the scrolls. There is a quote to fit every situation. You hardly have to think about it anymore, they simply spring to your lips. You enter a tavern and are served. To be honest, you don't notice the typos she makes because you're so distracted with this talk of nipples and "slave heat." You look down at the girl at your feet, almost giddy with the feeling of power. You think, "Wait till the guys at the office hear about this! Oh, yeah.... I am Gorean."
Again the whisper comes... "Liar."
Well, damnit. You've read the books twice. You know the terms and phrases by heart. You can boss around the slaves with the best of them. You know and understand the principles of honor and slavery. What is missing? Ok, so some of them are a bit extreme. Like that guy who whipped a girl for bringing him Ka-la-na instead of paga. You know the books say he has that right, but hell, cut the girl some slack. And the way she just threw herself at his feet as if her very life depended on bringing him the right drink. What is it about this place? What are you just not "getting?" You know the rules, the accepted codes of behavior. You behave when you are here as if you are Gorean. What are you missing?
You read some more. You go about your life, each day learning and absorbing a little more of this place called Gor. Then, perhaps one day you are in the bank and some mouthy girl is rude to you. You immediately think, "insolent slut!" and a picture springs to mind of her naked in chains at your feet. A smile of recognition spreads slowly across your face. You hold her gaze and speak firmly to her and she responds. Her eyes lower and her voice drops to a whispered apology.
In that moment, it becomes clear to you. It is not enough to know or to understand the principles that Norman set down. You must accept them as true. Accept them as your own. Take your place in the natural order of things. You remember that man who quieted a roomful of giggling subbies with a glance and you know. Gor is not a place you go to when you read a book or turn on your computer. It is not put away when you return to your "real life." Gor is carried in your heart every minute of every day. Gor is not where you go or what you do. Gor is who you are.
You hear the whisper one last time... "Yes... you are Gorean."
"It is a genetic expectation," I told her, "more ancient than the caves, a whisper in your brain bespeaking a lost world of nature, a world in which the human being, both male and female, were bred. You were fitted to one world; you found yourself in another. You were a stranger in a country not of your choosing, a troubled guest, uneasy in a house you knew was not yours."
"I fear my feelings," she said.
"They hint to you of nature's world," I told her. "They are inimical to the machine."
"I must fight them," she said.
"They are reminiscence," I said, "of a vanished reality. They whisper of old songs. The machine has not been able to eradicate them from your brain. Such feelings, in their genetic foundations, lie at the root of women, and of men. They antedate the taming of the fire. They were ancient when the first stone knife was lifted to the sun."
"I must fight them," she said.
"Fight yourself then," I said, "for it is your deepest self for which they speak."
Beasts of Gor..... pg 202
© copyright, Dangruscurvzzz 1999. All rights reserved
This essay may also be viewed in the July,1999 issue of The Gorean Voice.
***************
The Evolution of a Gorean
It's like a whisper.
"Pssssstttt.....yes, you.... come closer."
It tugs at some place deep inside you. So you watch. Who are these people? These Goreans. What is it about them that makes them somehow... different? The atmosphere is different. There is a calm... a sense of order not seen in other places. You leave thinking, "I wonder how they manage that?"
You return to your old haunts... the rooms full of chit chat. The familiar scroll seems too fast now... too... full of shallow words. These people, these friends seem so ... frivolous, so silly. Strange, where once you felt comfortable and at ease, now you feel... unsettled. The inside jokes, the "cutesy" expressions all seem so tiresome and trite. You've had a glimpse of something... deeper. The more time you spend in the places you've always gone, the worse it gets. You find the constant inane chatter annoying now. You find yourself becoming irritated over things you would've laughed at before.
Eventually, you get back into the swing of things. That feeling of unease fades to a dull twinge every once in a while. Until one day, someone enters the room. The entire tone of the room changes. It is as if it slows... calms. You can feel all eyes turned to the newcomer. The quiet that settles over the room with his presence. With a gesture or a word, those who were loud and boisterous suddenly are a bit... respectful. You recognize him. He is Gorean.
As soon as he leaves, the room quickly returns to the normal chatter. Only you do not join in. It is back... that feeling of unease. In this place where you have spent countless hours talking and laughing and sharing, you suddenly feel like an intruder. You do not belong here. But, if not here... where?
You begin to read in between visits. Eager to know more of this thing called Gor. And each time you log on, you find yourself looking for those taverns and places Gorean. The more you learn, the more comfortable you feel, and yet... you still feel like a child with his nose pressed to the glass. You spend time there, but... you are still on the outside looking in. Consumed with a burning need to know more, you scour used bookstores in search of the "scrolls." You search the web, hungry to learn, to know. You watch and study and absorb all that you can.
What is it? What is that secret "something" that makes a person Gorean? Is it the words, the terminology? You know the difference between a kajira and a Kaiila. You recognize the cities like Ar and Turia. You even get some of the Gorean jokes. You are beginning to fit in. People greet you when you enter. (You secretly get a thrill each time a slave calls you "Master.") They accept you, converse with you, and yet... there is still that distance. That silent knowledge that no matter how much time you spend there you are still... a visitor. Oh, you may call yourself Gorean, but each time you say the words, you feel a guilty twinge in side and you hear that whisper.
"Liar..."
Back to the books. There must be some... thing... some one important passage that explains it all. You just need to find it. So, this time you read. Really read all of the books instead of skipping the "boring" parts or the "girl" books. You begin to see that behind the warriors and the beautiful slave girls there is an underlying theme in Norman's work. This "natural order of things." They're not just love stories about men and women, but love for nature, respect for the truth. Ok... so now you understand.
You return to Gor, armed with this knowledge. You burn to BE Gorean. Everywhere you go, you speak of Gor. There is a need to share this passion awakened in you. You find yourself quoting chapter and verse from the scrolls. There is a quote to fit every situation. You hardly have to think about it anymore, they simply spring to your lips. You enter a tavern and are served. To be honest, you don't notice the typos she makes because you're so distracted with this talk of nipples and "slave heat." You look down at the girl at your feet, almost giddy with the feeling of power. You think, "Wait till the guys at the office hear about this! Oh, yeah.... I am Gorean."
Again the whisper comes... "Liar."
Well, damnit. You've read the books twice. You know the terms and phrases by heart. You can boss around the slaves with the best of them. You know and understand the principles of honor and slavery. What is missing? Ok, so some of them are a bit extreme. Like that guy who whipped a girl for bringing him Ka-la-na instead of paga. You know the books say he has that right, but hell, cut the girl some slack. And the way she just threw herself at his feet as if her very life depended on bringing him the right drink. What is it about this place? What are you just not "getting?" You know the rules, the accepted codes of behavior. You behave when you are here as if you are Gorean. What are you missing?
You read some more. You go about your life, each day learning and absorbing a little more of this place called Gor. Then, perhaps one day you are in the bank and some mouthy girl is rude to you. You immediately think, "insolent slut!" and a picture springs to mind of her naked in chains at your feet. A smile of recognition spreads slowly across your face. You hold her gaze and speak firmly to her and she responds. Her eyes lower and her voice drops to a whispered apology.
In that moment, it becomes clear to you. It is not enough to know or to understand the principles that Norman set down. You must accept them as true. Accept them as your own. Take your place in the natural order of things. You remember that man who quieted a roomful of giggling subbies with a glance and you know. Gor is not a place you go to when you read a book or turn on your computer. It is not put away when you return to your "real life." Gor is carried in your heart every minute of every day. Gor is not where you go or what you do. Gor is who you are.
You hear the whisper one last time... "Yes... you are Gorean."
"It is a genetic expectation," I told her, "more ancient than the caves, a whisper in your brain bespeaking a lost world of nature, a world in which the human being, both male and female, were bred. You were fitted to one world; you found yourself in another. You were a stranger in a country not of your choosing, a troubled guest, uneasy in a house you knew was not yours."
"I fear my feelings," she said.
"They hint to you of nature's world," I told her. "They are inimical to the machine."
"I must fight them," she said.
"They are reminiscence," I said, "of a vanished reality. They whisper of old songs. The machine has not been able to eradicate them from your brain. Such feelings, in their genetic foundations, lie at the root of women, and of men. They antedate the taming of the fire. They were ancient when the first stone knife was lifted to the sun."
"I must fight them," she said.
"Fight yourself then," I said, "for it is your deepest self for which they speak."
Beasts of Gor..... pg 202
© copyright, Dangruscurvzzz 1999. All rights reserved
This essay may also be viewed in the July,1999 issue of The Gorean Voice.
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