FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The stairs from the South Tower weren't as grand as the central stairs up to the living quarters, nor as beautiful as the stairs on the north side, with its warm display of windows. This staircase was as wide as the stairwell on the north, but the decorations were more like windows onto Timewind itself. The walls were festooned with simply-framed photos, each with a small caption at the bottom, showing members of Timewind as well as group pictures of (as Lightwing explained) their various guests, students, even some celebrities that I recognized.

"Experts in their fields," Lightwing answered my unasked question. "A few actors, some writers you might know from dustjacket covers, professors whose reputations may have gotten them into the news a few times, and yes, that fur," she pointed to one of the pictures, "is the Congressional Representative for this district. He was not here to stump for votes; no press, no handlers, and the only photographer present was whoever was taking the pictures for the particular gathering. He supports our mentoring work and came by as a sort of before-and-during dinner speaker. He took about five minutes before the meal to explain that he had no speech, that he wanted to talk about how dreams are unknown in lawmaking but that he'd be damned if he'd stop trying, and asked for help, from our guests, in his own Becoming. It might win him some votes, but not because of stumping and publicity. He really wants to listen, and we gave him a great chance to do it."

"Forgive my cynicism," I said, "but it might have cost him votes, if that got out."

"He addressed that idea by asking all of us for help in deciding what to do it. A conspiracy of silence? An opportunity for blackmail? Coming out of the tribal closet? He got a good laugh for that one."

"What did you all decide?"

Lightwing smiled. "That there is a difference between 'secret' and 'private.' Furs in the public eye are constantly scrutinized, as if they are not permitted even the semblance of privacy; it is assumed that they should answer questions that most of us are offended even by the asking. There was no reason why the Congressman should be asked where he spent that Saturday evening; he could answer, truthfully, that he spent it with friends. What friends? Constituents. Why no press coverage? It was a dinner, not an event." The Husky shrugged her shoulders. "It could get as nasty as anything else, but the consensus was that it wouldn't be an issue. If the press really got nasty, the Congressman has thirty or so witnesses to the fact that he was invited to speak, privately, at a dinner of students who had been instructed here at Starhold. We would rightly wonder what the big deal was, and it would wash out of the next news cycle."

I shook my head. "Why does it have to be this way? Why do we always have to be on our guard against the rest of the world?"

She put a forepaw to my shoulder. "It's okay, Max. That's actually what the discussion was about. Our student guests began to understand that the Congressman was making that very point. There's a lot of negativity out there, and a great many furs who seem to revel in the destruction of anything or anyone good. A wise philosopher once said that we put people on pedestals, then take pot-shots at them."

"Did you come up with an answer?"

"It comes back to Becoming. Give your best self to the world, always. Keep your private life private, do your best, and don't let the haters win."

"If he gets chased out of office, though, the haters will have won."

"Only if he lets them. His supporters know that he does good work in Congress, and if he's not allowed to do it there, he'll find other ways to do it. He is not a member of Timewind, but he's definitely tribal. He'll keep on doing good, as best he can, whatever he's doing."

The point needed no driving home, because even a comparative dolt like me can see analogies, similarities, parallels. I felt no "wave of fear" crash over me; more like a "lapping of unease," which is a phrase that I thought Darkstar would smack me for coming up with. I'm no writer, but even I could figure out that I was really pushing it, with inner dialog like that.

"Hey." Lightwing squeezed my shoulder gently. "I get the feeling that it's definitely time for tea. Let's go."

We continued down the stairs, past more and more pictures of smiling furs, all of whom shared a dream-filled moment. Each photo captured a single moment, and I guessed at 70 or 80 of them here, perhaps a hundred. Maybe there were other photos, in other places, that captured yet more moments. Photos capture moments, and yes, some could be horrifying, or sad, or devastating. Not all moments are like that. Here's proof. So obvious, Max.

Then why do I never think about it?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Back in the kitchen, the microwave clock told us that it was indeed "tea time," or as near to 4:00pm as made no odds. Lightwing again did the honors, this time with something she described as a "blackberry roo-ee-boss," which certainly tasted of blackberries (she'd added some honey, no lemon), so I just enjoyed it and decided I'd ask her more about it another time. We chatted idly at a table tucked into a nook space there in the kitchen that, she explained, was often used for those who wanted to make a quick meal or snack without trucking back and forth into the dining hall. I think Lightwing sensed a change in my mood.

"This space," I explained, leaning back in the padded bench seat. "There was something like it in the kitchen of Glover's house. It was where I interviewed the maid and the cook -- the only inside staff. The cook told me that Glover would pad his way to the kitchen rather than use the buzzer to call up for some tea or cocoa. He would sit in that nook, chatting with the cook while she prepared the drink for him. She said that he treated her like a cook, not a slave." I paused, considering. "Some part of Airdancer was still in him, at least enough to be civil."

"That's good to know." The Husky leaned a little closer to me, her voice soft. "His name hasn't come up in a little while. How are feeling, Max?"

I looked into her eyes, those beautiful ice-blue eyes, and I was still smart enough not to be glib with my answer. Nodding, smiling a little, I breathed in and really tried to put words to it. "Bringing him up doesn't hurt, or at least it doesn't right now. Remembering that bit of what I was told about him... I'm not quite sure what words come up. Makes him seem more real to me, somehow, instead of some restless, malevolent ghost. Helps me feel like there's really some good left in the world, even in his world."

Smiling warmly, her tail wagging softly behind her, Lightwing patted my forepaw. "It would be good to bring that story up at dinner tonight. I think the others would like to hear it as well."

My attempt at agreement was interrupted by a yawn that demanded my full and immediate attention. I was absolutely certain that my host could count, if not outright inspect, every tooth in my maw. My eyes screwed themselves shut as if to concentrate on the sheer power of it. I brought up a forepaw to cover as much of it as I could, managed to keep a soft whine from escaping my throat, and eventually brought my face back under my control. I opened my eyes and was about to offer a proper apology when I noticed Lightwing's seemingly knowing smile.

"I was waiting for that."

"You don't mean that you think I find you boring," I half-mumbled.

"No," she chuckled at me. "You've been through a lot this morning. Emotional work can be as exhausting as physical work, and by my rough guess, you've done the equivalent of chopping a couple of cords of firewood. C'mon." She rose and extended a forepaw toward me. "You need a nap."

Getting to my hindpaws, I found myself not entirely sure how to take that, although I was reasonably sure that all of my interpretations showed on my face, if not during the few moments that it took for me to get my tail to stop being obvious. All the while, even as she took my forepaw and gave it a gentle squeeze, her smile radiated nothing but benevolence. We did take a moment to wash out the mugs before she led me back to my guest suite. No one was in the halls as we went through, which suited me just fine. I felt a burning on my cheeks just realizing how much I was reading into her comment. I felt like I was back in high school, a foolish pup still trying to find out if what some of the jocks had bragged about was true, not knowing what love and sex had to do with each other, what the Question and Response was really for, since yowens weren't supposed to do that kind of thing, and oh my furry tail, we were at the room...

With slightly exaggerated patience, Lightwing guided me toward the bed, spun me around, and pushed me down to sit on it. I looked up into her eyes, a lump in my throat making it impossible to speak. She bowed toward me, smiling tenderly, then leaned in to whisper into my ear...

"Nap, Max. You need the rest. I'll be back to get you for dinner."

I hadn't felt so embarrassed since those horrible high school days. Like then, I wanted the earth to swallow me up; also like then, the earth stubbornly refused.

As she began to pull away from me, the Husky turned her muzzle toward mine, offering a brief, warm kiss to my lips before she straightened up and pet my headfur tenderly. Hesitation? Pity? What was she...?

"See you in a few hours."

With that, she turned and padded to the door, closing it quietly as she left.

Letting out a slow breath, I tried to deal with a frenzy of emotions. How could have thought... Maybe I shouldn't have... Would she really have... I wasn't sure what I was feeling, I told her about that... Better that we don't... She is so beautiful... What was I thinking... Was I thinking? Could she have...

I shook my head and lay back on the bed, letting my crazed brain run around like a pup with a sugar high. No way I was gonna fall asleep with this going on...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Slowly opening my eyes, it quickly became obvious to me that I was waking from my nap. Recovering from that chagrin was the first of many, as I tried hard to keep from beating myself up over the racing thoughts of earlier. I was certain that Lightwing thought a lot less of me, after that little episode. I had probably screwed up my welcome here, which would make dinner more than a little awkward.

Rolling onto my side, away from the door, I considered my options. If I could find Darkstar, I could discreetly ask for my clothes, find my car, drive off. Maybe I could make up some sort of emergency, or...

I sighed heavily. I didn't think that I could get away with lying to this bunch, not with Stellamara and Heartsinger in the mix. It would only make things worse. That old phrase "laugh and lump it" came to mind, although I didn't feel like laughing. There was nothing pressuring me to leave the room, not before Lightwing arrived to get me. I guessed I could find something to do, to bide my time until then. Give me a chance to hide a little longer.

Raising my eyes a little, I looked over at the chair and table near the window. The book still lay there -- a copy of The Tribal Manifesto, as Lightwing had told me last night. Seeing it seemed to still my thoughts, making a space for me remember what the day had shown me. I remembered how motels used to have a copy of Gideon's bible in a drawer somewhere, presumably to offer comfort to weary travelers. Where that particular book had failed me, perhaps this one might help.

Further scootching and rolling got me to the far side of the bed, and I made my way to the comfortable armchair in short order. Taking the book into my forepaws, my first observation was that the cover wasn't what I had anticipated. Instead of the house, or the Bunkhouse, or even the Artisanry, it was a montage of pictures, like a photo album had been spilled and pictures went every which way. I saw a lot of familiar faces, some unfamiliar ones, in singles, pairs, and groups, all happy and sharing whatever moment might have been going on at the time. Superimposed, in modest font, was the title and, near the bottom, the attribution of Timewind. The authorship belonged to the tribe, at least here.

Inside, the title page offered a bit more elaboration: The Tribal Manifesto, Being Our Attempt to Share Our Dreams With the World, by the Members of the Tribe of Timewind. A table of contents offered section or chapter titles and names of individual authors -- again, some names I knew, some I didn't, and titles that covered many topics and ideas. It seemed to me that I would benefit from reading the whole thing, although certain section titles jumped out at me, including Dreaming Awake and Dreaming Well With Others. Leafing through the pages, I had the impression that the "chapters" were more like essays, portions of journals or diaries, or simply the reflections of individual members upon their experiences with "being tribal."

The differences between this and that comb-bound original that I had tried to suffer through a few nights ago were substantial. This was a book, a regular 15x25cm sized paperback, 185 pages, and the contents were better presented. Just skimming a few of the entries told me that the language was more uniform, in the same font and size, and looked to be better edited. I'm no expert in that kind of thing, but I know when a sentence feels smooth and when it doesn't. I sensed Darkstar's paw in this edition.

As for actual reading, it seemed sensible to start at the beginning, which happened to be Oaknail's introduction.

Welcome [it read] to the sharing of a dream. That may already sound a little crazy to you. It did to all of us, when we first started talking about it in the early months of 1994. Nine of us, young, idealistic, and maybe more than a little crazy, wondered what would happen if we banded together to forge a life based on our dreams, with values built on mutual support and trust. Yup, definitely crazy.

The funny thing is, it worked.

As I write these opening notes, our tribe has been together for 25 years, and we're still dreaming, and we're bringing as much of the dream back out into the world that we can. You can read about current projects, scholarships, mentoring, any number of our ways of bringing forth and sharing our dreams, on our website; the URL is on the back cover. This book is about the background to all that, the things we've learned along the way, presented with a view to explaining how we brought all this about, and how we hope that you will be able to find your own dreams and make them happen, too.

We've all been asked about the title of this book. Why The Tribal Manifesto_? Our statements are a manifesto, meaning "a public declaration of policy and aims" (yes, I looked it up). Most furs hear the echo of Engels and Marx's_ The Communist Manifesto, and they're meant to. The irony is intentional. We've been called "commies," even though we really aren't a commune or collective, nor do we insist that all the world adhere to the ideas we manifest here. This book is about what we did, how we did it, and most importantly, why we did it. Let's start with this...

The next page was devoted to a large and beautiful rendering of the Three Steps to Becoming.

This sounds [Oaknail continued] like the oft-heard phrase, "Be the change that you want to see in the world." Research tells us that this phrase, although attributed to the Mahatma Gandhi, was not what he actually said. We discovered that Gandhi's words were, "We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As one changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. This is the divine mystery supreme. A wonderful thing it is and the source of our happiness. We need not wait to see what others do."

Our version of this idea took on the form of the Three Steps to Becoming. None of us would claim to be wiser than the Great Soul Gandhi, least of all this bear! It was through our talks that we, the nine founders of Timewind and all who have joined with us over the years, realized that changing ourselves is a huge project and, ironically, not one to be undertaken alone. Although each furson must do the work him/herself, and although s/he must begin the work individually, the task of continuing the work is benefitted by having others around who are also doing their own work. It's why "gym buddies," dieting clubs, support groups, and recovering addicts groups exist: It helps to have sympathetic fursons around you, fursons who are going through the same (or at least similar) challenges.

More than that, however, it is important to be able to get help from others. For some, this means reading self-help books or attending seminars. What we have discovered, in our many late-night talks, is that asking for help and giving help are both -- to overuse the word -- helpful. The give-and-take of discussion, of working out ideas with each other, often brings out things that we hadn't considered before. (I salute Darkstar, our writer and philosopher in residence, for pointing out that this is essentially the "Socratic method" of learning.) We run the risk of stepping on toes, bruising egos, dredging up old memories that we'd rather have left buried; we also are there to apologize, to build back up, to comfort each other through the reconstruction of ourselves. This is part of the pledge to ask for and give help. It means to take care with one another, to be responsible to each other in our journey to make ourselves the best that we can be.

The Mahatma's urging to "change ourselves" so that "the tendencies in the world would also change" is the third step of our Becoming. We give ourselves to the world, each of us, every day. What we do, say, accomplish, offer, every action that we take, that's what we give to our world. We strive to give our best, to share kindness, to be helpful, thoughtful, gentle in our interactions. Short form: We try to give a damn.

That can take a lot out of a furson, and we need to regain our strength and focus. This is also what the tribe is for. We call on one another, as friends, as family, to lean on each other, talk out the issues, reinforce our commitment to being our best selves. Cheaper than therapy! It's also community, not in the socio-political sense of communism, but in the sense of communing, of sharing intimate thoughts or feelings. For some, the word is related to prayer, and some of our tribal members have described the act of sharing our thoughts and feelings with each other to be akin to one of the ancient meanings of the word namaste,"The divine in me honors [bows to] the divine in you."

So I, and the tribe, bow to you, to honor the divine in you by sharing this glimpse into our crazy dream for a better self and, through that, a better Us, and thus a better world. Welcome to our continuing journey and, perhaps, to yours as well.

I closed the book and set it back on the table, giving myself a few moments to breathe and let the words sink in. The line about "bruised egos" rang truest for me, and I let the idea run through my mind to collect evidence, like a certain detective dog would do. This time, the search wasn't cold and calculating; strangely, it felt rational yet emotionally connected, sympathetic. That sort of emotion wasn't helpful in the Homicide Cop line of work, or so the world tried to tell me. Moshe told me otherwise without ever actually saying it. The idea of "what to let go of and what to keep" pertained to evidence and clues as much as to the rest of my life, and it required a sense of listening to the gut as well the head.

The knock at my door was almost too soft to hear. "Come in."

Lightwing entered, her gaze first toward the bed, then the chair where I sat. "You're vertical," she smiled at me.

"Not disappointed, I hope?"

Her tail wagged gently as she chuckled. "I take it you're feeling better?"

"Yes," I said, rising to meet her. "I do have something to ask you, though."

"What's that?"

I took her forepaws in mine. "I'm not quite sure how to phrase it. Something like, 'Do I have something to apologize for' comes to mind."

"You don't. Will you tell me why you feel that you do?"

"You mean, aside from acting like an inexperienced adolescent who was hoping that 'IT' was really about to happen, regardless of any reasons why it shouldn't?"

The Husky nodded once, a twinkle in her ice blue eyes. "It's good to know that I haven't lost my touch," she grinned at me. "You had asked me if what you were feeling was just the emotional overload. Most of it wasn't. That last bit, though, the part you described as being like an adolescent... yes, that was the overload, coupled with your needing a nap."

I looked down, laughing a little, feeling the blush on my cheeks, feeling my tail giving some nervous wags. Her forepaws gave mine a little squeeze, and she bent forward quickly to give my burning cheek a brief kiss.

"C'mon." She tugged my forepaws gently. "There's still a little time before dinner, and we can wait in the den for a while."

"Afraid to be alone with me?" I tried to make the joke. I gave her forepaws a squeeze, then released them. "A good idea. Let's go see who else is lining up for the grub."

To my surprise, she didn't move. She stood, looking at me, and I wondered what had changed. After a long moment, she asked, "Do you really think I'd be afraid to be alone with you?"

I blinked. "No."

"Then why did you say it?"

"Just a joke."

"Deflection." She put a forepaw to my shoulder, giving me a wan yet sympathetic smile. "Blame my time on the therapist's couch. And, if you want, blame it on my wanting to look out for you. Max, you're free to tell me if I'm wrong. It feels like you want to talk more, and I didn't want to just cut you off."

For a long moment, I had the feeling that she was speaking in a foreign language. It was the look in her eyes, the warmth there, the entirety of her face, of her presence, that made me look at myself the way she was seeing me, hearing me. Reflecting me. I didn't have time to wonder where that notion came from; Lightwing was waiting for me to speak.

"I'm not gonna get away with anything with you, am I?" I asked with a self-deprecating smile.

"Nope. Not if I can help it. And I want you to do the same for me. It works both ways, Max."

"Yes," I said, then swallowed. "I do want to talk. Is it okay to say that I still have that feeling about you?"

Her smile warmed, and she brushed her forepaw against my cheek. "It's always okay to be in touch with what you feel, and I thank you for sharing it with me. Do you want to talk now or after dinner?"

The feeling swirled in me, brought up all the double-entendres, and I finally settled on a guilty chuckle. "It's a lot to talk about before dinner."

"Then we'll talk tonight, shall we?"

"Yes, please." Imitating her move from earlier, I turned my muzzle to kiss her open palm. "Thank you for your patience."

"Thank you for your respect and trust."

I smiled gently at her. "Is that from the time on the couch, too?"

"Maybe," she allowed. "Still true. Thank you, Max." Patting my shoulder gently, she added, "Let's go see who's going to join us."

The ornery teenager in my brain tried to stir up a series of naughty images. I told the pup to sit in a corner and shut up. I'd have sent him to bed without dinner, but that had connotations that he wanted to pounce on, and I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.