Our mind is a warehouse, which stores our life’s events. Memories vividly captured, so that we might relive the moment. We rely upon these memories to warm us, to educate us and to hopefully make each of us better individuals. As time goes by, the memory fades. And, on occasion, the memory becomes lost within the deepest recesses of our minds. In addition to the novels, there are scrolls of a different sort. We, online, have the ability to capture a moment so that we may return to experience it with its original clarity. Our experiences are two dimensional... yet these moments can be just as magnificent as those we have lived offline. Logs of private messages and channels, web sites, mail, public boards and The Voice. It is here where our continued thirst for knowledge is quenched. Here we are able to interact with those who share the same ideals. she wanders into a room filled with scrolls. her hand slides lovingly over the stiff paper, pausing on occasion as she recalls what is written. she has wondered how many billions of words are exchanged within this medium? And how many times have these words been abused or used in an inappropriate fashion? How often has information been altered and passed off as the original? And how many times have people been hurt? This one feels certain it is more often than any of us would care to admit. her hand rests upon a recent scroll, composed by Master Bear and Master _Marcus_, sharing thoughts that have been echoed by so many others within our community. Sadness washes across her face as she recalls the words written in tears of anger and frustration. There has been a call to arms within our community to fight a nameless, faceless enemy that steals from us. They ignore the ideals of our community as well as the laws of the society in which we live. They ignore copyright laws. They steal words designed to educate and vandalize the content to suit their pathetic games. In doing so, they make a mockery of the philosophy of Gor. They make a mockery of us and shame the principles that we strive to live by. A defensive posture is no longer effective. We have been told that it is time for those who call themselves Gorean to go on the offense. Each of us is responsible for maintaining the integrity and purity of this philosophy. It is our responsibility to take the initiative to shut down web sites who have not only stolen but have defecated upon words lovingly compiled and made available to help us along our path. If we do not, then the silence which has become so deafening she fears, will become permanent. Fingertips dance to rest upon a bulky scroll, she presses her forehead to the smooth wood of the shelf… her heart aching with pain. But these are not the only ones who defile our beliefs. There are those who mimic the Men and females of Gor. Using truth, honor and integrity as a means to seduce and manipulate. Using online as a means to steal money from the naive. There are others who hide behind the words of our philosophy to go offline and damage and abuse others physically and emotionally. Master Tusker's sage advice that we are responsible for our choices and actions rings out in truth. Wisdom shared by pet{MBear}, ra`nee{K^}, aprell{Tzar}, chrisy{JZ}, tyki{KTs} and tess{Tskr} which discuss common sense measures when making the transition from online to offline, as well as, things to look out for are written within this scroll. But even when all precautions are taken there is still a chance of being duped. The world we live in can be a horrifying place. We only have one life and it should be protected at all costs. Turning to rest her back against the shelf, she lowers long lashes to rest upon flushed cheeks damp with tears. Full lips part as a shuddering sigh escapes. How many times have our words been manipulated and used in an effort to demean us? Individuals who cannot attain the lofty goals set by Goreans, appear to relish writing on our Boards with the sole intent of ridiculing or to attacking us. Each time, Master’s taking a stand to fight their skewed assertions. she wonders if it is ignorance that motivates these authors, or if they are trying to make us part of their senseless game? Too many have become weary over the senselessness of this battle. What will happen when the Owners and Moderators of these Boards tire of fighting this battle? Somehow, balance must be found without compromising the philosophy. Fanning trembling fingertips, she presses her palm to her flat belly, trying to quell what rages within. Fragile ribs outline as she takes a deep breath… casting her gaze to a glass case, which is filled with her most treasured scrolls. her reason for remaining on Gor. There is always hope. Those who are true to themselves and to the philosophy can unite and fight against these creatures who wish nothing more than to toy with us and destroy our beliefs. The philosophy enhances our individuality, it does not replace who and what we are. The philosophy celebrates the differences. It celebrates living life to its fullest measure… but not at the cost of truth, honor and integrity. Those who do not hold the philosophy dear to their hearts and live it, can never be called Gorean. How many essays have been written about the path that we are on? Each of us at a different place in our journey. Does it not behoove us who have been blessed with knowledge to share it with others as was once done for us? So often she hears how hard it is to walk on this road. she believes the beginning of the journey is quite challenging. However, is it hard to be true to our own nature, to not compromise our integrity just to placate another? This one believes that it is liberating. In all walks of life there are stumbling blocks. We are a community built not just upon common ideals, but also the bonds of friendship, respect and service. As long as there is a community there will be those who will help us get past the challenging parts of the journey. The collective will always be stronger than the one. When she looks within the glass case that houses only scrolls filled with beauty, she knows that this beauty must be preserved. she knows she cannot fathom the countless times these scrolls have inspired all of us. Taking us further along on our journey. Giving us aid and reassurance that we are where we belong. Within the glass cabinet are scrolls that holds memories she cherishes above all others. They hold the words of Master and slave whom she has grown to respect and in some cases, love. Stored within the scrolls are moments of profound intensity. Several filled with laughter and tears. And always hope. These she will share with no other, for they were meant for her eyes alone. Were they only memories, they would be locked deep within her soul. They are secrets shared... two people exposing themselves and their vulnerabilities. Words to those of us who have the ability to envision the imagery that another's words paint for us. It is much more than a log. It is a cherished moment into another's heart. The greatest gift of all. Hips swing in a languid motion as she moves gracefully across the room to the glass case...taking great care as she slides a scroll from the top shelf. she moves to kneel before the hearth. Long fingertips slowly unroll the parchment, the warmth of the fire flushing her ivory skin to a light pink. Full lips move soundlessly as she reads the scroll, a lesson which reminds her of her purpose… "A bolt of lightning shreds the black canvas of the sky to illuminate the chamber. The scented mica releases its heady perfume as static electricity crackles through the grove. Thunder reverberating across the earth raises the slave from her reverie. Thunderheads shroud the moons as she moves silently to the terrace and curls up on the low stone wall, allowing the fury of the storm to envelope her. Howling winds reveal torrid secrets as its tongues hungrily flick across whispering leaves. Lacy tendrils of mist swirl around sensual curves as she loses herself in the elements. A gust of wind knocks her from her perch into the flowerbed. her hand bumps against a hard object. Curiosity fills her eyes as long fingertips curl round the object to lift it from the wet soil. The night sky opens to release a curtain of rain as she wiggles unceremoniously from the flowerbed, clutching the treasure as she scurries back into the cottage. Holding the large object in silky palms as she wanders into the kitchen. Tempestuous eyes admire the craftsmanship as she wipes away the dirt. she wonders how this exquisite goblet could not have been missed? Then sighs as she recalls how many vessels are in the cupboard, perfect and beautiful in their own right. Who would notice a single missing goblet? Who would know it silently waited to be rediscovered so it might be of use again? Trembling fingertips brush across the tarnished imprint of a Masters thumb. she could tell by the oxidation that it had lain there, void of a purpose, for a very long while. Gathering a fresh rep cloth in her hand, she wipes the brown sphere which is nestled between the ornate base and stem. A gentle smile dancing upon her lips as she removes the grime to reveal a heavily cut crystal. Twirling the stem between fingertips, the facets glittering in the firelight. she works several hours cleaning this single vessel. her thoughts wandering to those who had cared for her when she had felt forgotten and misplaced. Laying the blackened cloth to the counter, appreciating the goblet which was created for a single purpose, to serve wine to a Master. Without wine, it still was beautiful to look at... but not serving its purpose. Without a Master's large hand grasping the goblet and drinking the wine... it was worthless. A myriad of emotions cover her face, her eyes brimming with tears as she recalls the pain of not being able to serve. Pressing the goblet to her breast, she whispers a prayer of gratitude, for once again being allowed to fulfill her own purpose. she places the kiss of a slave to the base of the goblet before returning it to the cupboard. The fire in her belly searing a path across supple flesh as she repeats the words that have been spoken to her at least a thousand times... 'Serve your purpose and serve it exceedingly well.'" she rolls the fragile parchment on the mahogany spindle, her mind filled with images. Sliding her sleek form deep into the furs, her hand still holding her treasured past. Curls the color of autumn tumble to the silky pelts as she lays a soft cheek against her arm. she prays that the Gor she once knew and loved will return. For it is here that she is allowed to serve those whom she calls Master. she prays that the silence will be broken and the voices who have enriched our lives will once again be heard. she knows that no matter what happens, the ideals which brought us together and what we have learned from one another will remain with us forever. Making each of us better than before. And that is a good thing.