Gents Journey
Helping Men become the Gentleman they deserve to be. This Podcast is part inspiration part motivation. We discuss what it takes to be a Gentleman in the 21st Century. We also talk about how to deal with the internal and external battles that life throws at us. So come be apart of the Gents Journey!
Gents Journey
The Forgotten Samauri: The Price of Belief.
The sacred burden of those who guide us through transformation lies at the heart of "Forgotten Samurai" – a haunting exploration of witnessing, protecting, and letting go.
Through a mesmerizing narrative where reality shifts like fog against glass, we follow a protagonist collecting pieces of ancient armor while two enigmatic figures watch from the shadows. Each plate of armor carries more than physical weight – it holds memory, failure, and the echoes of those who wore it before. But the true revelation comes when we understand the watchers themselves.
Katsu and Alistair represent opposing approaches to guiding transformation. One embodies compassion that risks attachment; the other, the cold distance born from witnessing too many failures. Their conflict reveals a universal truth: sometimes those guiding us are the most broken because they've watched countless others fall yet continue showing up.
The episode challenges us to examine our own roles as both armor-wearers and watchers. Are you protecting someone who needs to fail to grow? Are you resenting the silence of those who stand witness to your transformation, mistaking their restraint for abandonment? Through five powerful reflection exercises, you'll identify where you might be overstepping as a guide or resisting necessary pain as someone being guided.
This journey isn't just about supernatural armor or mysterious fog – it's about the impossible choices faced by those who love us enough to watch us struggle without always intervening. Because sometimes, witnessing transformation changes the watcher more profoundly than the one being watched.
Create your reality by recognizing both the armor you wear and the watchers standing silently at the edge of your fire. They hold space while you unravel, carrying burdens you may never see.
"True mastery is found in the details. The way you handle the little things defines the way you handle everything."
Hello and welcome to the Gentleman's Journey podcast. My name is Anthony, your host, and we are in episode eight of the Forgotten Samurai. So let's go ahead and let's get into it. There's a moment, just after waking, when reality hasn't caught up yet, where the room is familiar but the air isn't where your name feels like it belongs to someone else, where the silence has weight. He was in that moment. Now the ceiling blinked Once, then again, the fan wasn't spinning because there was no fan.
Speaker 1:He sat up slowly, hand on the side of the mattress palm, searching for his lighter. Not on the table. The journal was open. It hadn't been open, he hadn't written anything, but his handwriting was on the page. The ones who don't return were never lost. They simply went too far. He blinked. The fog outside the window was pressed up like breath on glass. It wasn't morning light, it was something in between, like time had started but hadn't committed. Yet. He lit a lucky strike, stared at the page, flicked the brass zippos shut with a clink. Katsu wasn't knocking, the hallway didn't sound like anything. He stood up, lit another cigarette without realizing he hadn't finished the first.
Speaker 1:The apartment was different. At first. It was subtle. The angle of the hallway was off. The cult rack was closer to the window. The light switch clicked twice. Then it was undeniable. The hallway was longer. The kitchen had one too many chairs. There were two doors to the bathroom.
Speaker 1:He walked down the hall barefoot. Each step made a different sound. The fog was inside now just a little Hugging. The corners Sticking to the door frames corners sticking to the door frames, not thick. Just watching. He reached for the mirror near the closet. But it wasn't his face that looked back. It was someone older wearing a part of the armor, one eye closed, a scar down the jawline. Then his reflection again, cigarette trembling in his mouth. The sigil was above him, faint, Burned into the ceiling. Paint like heat had risen and taken shape. He didn't recognize it, but he felt it, something between panic and recognition.
Speaker 1:He walked to the window, stared into the fog. Katsu's voice came from behind him, not loud, not soft, not this room. He spun. Nothing. The journal page had turned Another line. To remember where you're going, you must forget how you got here. He closed the book and nearly dropped it. The cover was warm, not warm like a surface, warm like it knew something.
Speaker 1:He stepped into the hallway. There were nine doors now. He only counted six before he walked past one Door. Four, then five, then six, then turned back. The numbers were wrong. One of the doors were open. Just a crack, a dim greenish light spilled from within. He reached for the handle and heard a voice. It was his voice From inside, but older, you're not ready for this piece. He pulled his hand back. The door closed by itself. The hallway narrowed slightly behind him. He turned. There was no way forward, so he did what he always did. He sat on the floor and lit another cigarette. He tried to remember where he was before. He was here. A part of him whispered you never left A thump from his apartment. He turned back. Somehow the door was behind him again. He opened it.
Speaker 1:Katsu was standing in the kitchen Morning. She said you look like you've seen a ghost. He didn't respond. She was making tea. He glanced at the counter. The journal was still open, but a different page. The sigil was drawn in ink. Now, he didn't draw it and neither did she. She looked over her shoulder. It's changing, isn't it? He nodded. Good, she whispered. It means it remembers you. He sat across from her.
Speaker 1:The kitchen had one too many chairs. Again. She poured the tea Steam curled towards the ceiling. She didn't say anything anymore. He looked around. No mirror in there, no mirror here, just her eyes, steady, like she knew more than he did, which she did.
Speaker 1:He finished the tea in silence. When he looked down, there was something beneath his chair, a fragment, a small curved plate, black steel thin but heavier than it looked. He reached for it and for just a second he saw every door in the hallway open, behind each one, himself in armor, bleeding, falling or waiting. The fog swirled through the window. The plate in his hand vibrated, the back plate. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew. Katsu placed her hand on his wrist drop this one, she said quietly. He didn't ask how she knew what it was.
Speaker 1:They sat in the shifting kitchen in the apartment that wasn't an apartment, while the fog watched from every wall. There was a weight to the back plate, not just physical, though it was heavier. There was a weight to the back plate, not just physical, though it was heavier than it should have been, considering the size. No, this weight came from something else, from memory, from failure, from everything. It had seen that it hadn't. He sat it within his hands for a long time.
Speaker 1:Katsu was gone, or maybe she'd never been there. The tea was still warm, but there was no sound in the apartment now no hum of the fridge, no creak of the pipes, no wind, just him, the journal and the silence that always came before a storm. He placed the plate on the table. It vibrated softly like it was humming. The journal flipped on its own Another entry, but not his handwriting. Some of us come back with pieces, some of us don't come back at all. There was a sigil at the bottom, this one burned into the page, not drawn. He blinked. It pulsed once, then stopped. The hallway called to him again.
Speaker 1:He opened the front door and stepped into the corridor that didn't belong to any building. There were more doors now. They weren't numbered, they were carved, each with a different symbol. One looked like a flame, another one looked like a broken mask, another like a hand reaching downward. He paused in the front of the door with the flame. It was warm. He touched the wood and and exhaled a long, slow breath of heat and sorrow.
Speaker 1:The door opened inside with smoke, dust and broken tile, a room full of shattered weapons and rusted armor and in the center a figure kneeling, wearing a torn version of what he'd just found the back plate. But it was cracked. The figure looked up slowly. Eyes hollow, face scorched. He recognized the man, didn't know from where, but the recognition hit hard, like deja vu wrapped in grief. You're the one after me. The man said. His voice was made of ash. Don't let her die for nothing. Then he vanished. The room crumbled. He was standing in the hallway again, but now another door is open. He walked past. It Didn't look inside. The fog was rising around his ankles. It was warm now, not a threat, more like a witness.
Speaker 1:He kept walking. At the end of the hallway there was a mirror, full length, standing on its own. His reflection was blurred, it was faint, and behind his own image were others Ten, and behind his own image were others ten, all wearing different pieces, all with sigils carved into their skin. Some looked terrified, some looked proud. One had no face at all. He blinked and they were gone. His own reflection stared back. Sweat on his brow, cigarette shaking, zippo clenched in his fist like it was a weapon.
Speaker 1:The back plate vibrated again. He turned around. Alice were standing at the other end, the hall, still silent. The fog didn't touch him. He raised one hand, slowly pointed to the plate put it on. This is where the test begins. He tried to speak. Nothing came out. The hallway stretched between them like it might never end. He turned to go back to the apartment, but it wasn't there. It was just more fog. He turned to go back to the apartment, but it wasn't there. It was just more fog. He was alone. No katsu, no door, no tea, just him and the plate and the ones who didn't come back.
Speaker 1:He stood in that hallway, not sure for how long. The door behind him, the one he just exited from, was still open, but it no longer led to the room he remembered. It looked deeper now, like it had expanded behind his back and the door in front of him Still closed, but humming, almost breathing. He leaned against the wall, let a lucky strike, watched the flame flicker sideways, like the hallway had a draft. Only there was no windows and no wind, just this strange pull. Like time wanted him forward, but something inside him hasn't caught up yet. The armored pieces pulsed inside his coat, each with its own rhythm, not random, more like a code. They were syncing with something far away or something just beneath the surface of what he could see. He looked across the hall. Katsu's apartment was supposed to be downstairs, but her door was here now. Same little welcome mat, same chip number plate. He blinked, it was gone Back to normal, just a wall. He flicked ash onto the floor, didn't even watch it fall. His eyes were on the next door, the one that was waiting. He hadn't knocked, he hadn't even stepped closer, but the knob turned just once like a breath, inhaled and stopped. He pocketed the lighter, tightened his coat, ran a thumb over the edge of the chestplate, tucked under his arm. His coat ran a thumb over the edge of the chestplate, tucked under his arm, and stepped forward. The hallway didn't follow. It retracted and behind him the lightbulb in the ceiling blinked.
Speaker 1:Once Twice Gone, the room didn't feel like his apartment anymore. It had his furniture, his walls, his shoes by the door, but none of it felt like it belonged to him. The journal was closed now. No sigil on the cover, no writing inside, just blank pages that whispered like they once knew something and chose to forget.
Speaker 1:He brought the pieces out one by one, set them on the floor, slow, deliberate, like each movement mattered the helmet first, then the right forearm guard, the left, the knee plate, the chest, the throat, the shins and now the back plate. He hadn't realized how much he'd carried together. They looked wrong, too old to be intact, too powerful to be forgotten, too heavy to be his. He stood over them like a man who'd just dug up the bones of a god. And then a knock. He didn't answer, he didn't move, but the door opened anyways. Alice just stepped through, wearing the same dark coat, the same moonlit skin, but something was different. It was colder, sharper, quieter. He didn't say hello. He looked at the armor, then at him, the back of the armor. Do you even know what you're building? He crouched beside the pieces, didn't touch them, didn't have to. They reacted anyways.
Speaker 1:A faint vibration moved through the floor. Most who make it this far think about its power, protection, strength, revenge. He looked up. It's none of those things. He pointed at the helmet. The helmet is the lie, the version of you that the world sees, and the part that shatters when the pressure gets real. Then to the chestplate, the illusion of courage. It holds your fear in place just long enough to get you killed. He moved to the knee. This is a place of surrender. You wear it when you've knelt too long to the wrong master.
Speaker 1:He circled the arrangement slowly, predator, silent, like the room didn't deserve to know where his footsteps landed. Every piece on this floor was a piece of a man who broke. He turned to him and now they're yours. The fog curled at the corners of the room but didn't move closer, like it was even watching Alistair. Alistair's gaze was like a scalpel. Now there's a reason it's been calling you, a reason. It's always one step ahead. The armor doesn't belong to you. He paused. It remembers you.
Speaker 1:The journal opened again on its own. He didn't move, neither did Alistair. That book has never been yours either. He said. It's a record of every version of you that failed and the one who didn't. And there was silence, not the peaceful kind, the kind that builds behind the glass before it breaks.
Speaker 1:Alice just stared at him for a long moment, then walked to the window, the fog pressed up like a face, like it wanted in. You think this is about finishing a set. This isn't a collection. He turned. This is a sentence. He didn't. He didn't respond. He didn't know how Alistair finally walked to the armor, kneeling like a priest before a tomb. He didn't respond. He didn't know how Alistair finally walked to the armor. He leant a caprice before a tomb. You're not the first to make it this far, you're just the first. The armor hasn't rejected A pause.
Speaker 1:Yet the backplate began to hum. The floor beneath it pulsed faintly and then, one by one, every piece began to warm, not hot, not painful, just awake. Alice restood. It knows what comes next. He stepped to the door, didn't open it, it opened for him. But before leaving he looked over his shoulder. When the last piece appears, it won't ask for your permission, it'll ask for everything else. And then he was gone. The door shut without a sound. The armor kept humming and the general brought one more line he won't be friendly next time. The pieces were still laid on the floor, each one humming at a different frequency, each one subtly shifting, not visibly, not like movement, but like memory being rearranged. He didn't touch them, he just watched, watched how the back plate pulsed, how the knee plate cooled, then warmed again, how the chess piece occasionally gave off a faint echo like a heartbeat that didn't belong to him.
Speaker 1:The journal was open again, but this time the ink wasn't black, it was a deep copper, red, pressing the paper like it had been branded, and the writing wasn't in a language he knew Curved strokes, sharp angles. Some of it looked like bones or maps or broken letters trying to put themselves back together. He reached for the journal and the moment his fingers touched the page he heard a voice from the mirror across the room. It wasn't him, not this version of him. It was one he saw in the hallway Older, heavier, eyes like frostbitten ash.
Speaker 1:He was wearing six plates, bit and ash. He was wearing six plates, but they looked tarnished, cracked. The helmet looked melted at the edges. The forearm guard was rusted, dripping with something dark. Do you think you're the first to get this far? You think it's yours now? The reflection leaned closer, but the mirror didn't move. Only the image did. It doesn't protect you, it contains you.
Speaker 1:He blinked. His reflection was normal again. Sweat on his brow, cigarette half burned, but the armor was gone from the floor. Every piece gone, except the mask sat in their place. The one piece he hadn't found, black, smooth, expressionless. It shouldn't have been there. He didn't touch it. He stepped back.
Speaker 1:The room suddenly felt too narrow. The fog poured in from under the floor and under the door. Heavy alive, it circled the mask but didn't touch it, like even the mist respected its boundary. The journal flipped again backwards, backwards Pages. He's never written Entries, he couldn't read One page. Sigils from every place, every stop, all faint, all pulsing, except one, cassius. Hers was darker, sharper, almost bleeding. Hers was darker, sharper, almost bleeding. He turned to the mirror. Alistair was behind him, not in the room, just in reflection, standing behind him like a storm waiting for wind. She's not going to protect you anymore. He spun. The room was empty, just fog and the mask. She's not going to protect you anymore. He spun. The room was empty, just fog and the mask Waiting. The hallway was quiet, thicker than fog, thinner than air. Alistair stood with his back to the door, not moving, just listening.
Speaker 1:Inside, katsu lit a candle, not for light but for memory. She didn't look up when he entered. She didn't greet him. He didn't ask for permission. They were far past that. You shouldn't have come, she said softly. Alistair stepped forward. His boots didn't make a sound on the old tile. I had to. She poured tea, set it down. She didn't offer him any. He stared at the flickering flame. She's attached, he said almost to himself. The armor knows it's watching her now. Katsu's hand shook slightly. Maybe it needs her, she whispered. Alistair's head turned slowly. No, it doesn't need anyone, it only uses them.
Speaker 1:Cassie sat down harder than she meant to. You don't think I remember the last one. She said the boy in Osaka, the fire, the door that wouldn't close. She looked up. You told me that it was his fault. Alice didn't blink. It was Well. What about the girl in Prague? She asked, voice sharper now, the girl who wrote her name and blood, just to feel real again. He didn't answer. The fog was pressing out the window like it wanted to hear.
Speaker 1:Katsu stood, walked to the mirror near the coat rack. It flickered once. Alistair's reflection didn't move, hers did. I've watched them die in every way. A person can die, she said. And now this one? He's different. Alistair stepped closer. No, he's slower, that's all. The others. Fought, he questions, he paused and when the final piece calls because it will, he'll hesitate.
Speaker 1:Cassie's jaw trembled. He's not like the rest. She said he's trying. Alistair's voice was low. Now, you're getting too close. Her eyes snapped to his. You always say that, you. You always say that when you're afraid Silence, then he isn't going to survive this. You need to understand that. He was never meant to.
Speaker 1:Cassius stepped forward, tears caught in her eyes. Then why did the armor, choose him. A long beat. Alistair's expression didn't change, it didn't. The mirror flicked again. A new sigil appeared between them, carved in mist, floating like smoke trapped in glass. Cassius stared at it. I didn't draw that, she whispered. Alistair turned. No, he said she did. Casu blinked the armor. Alistair didn't nod, but he didn't deny it either. The wind outside picked up. The fog curled beneath the door. In another room the mask was still waiting.
Speaker 1:Sometimes the ones who guide us are the most broken, not because they failed, but because they watched too many others fail and they kept showing up. That's what this episode was really about. It wasn't about the armor, not the fog, not even the mask that waited on the floor. It was about the burden of watching. See, casu and Alistair are the ones we call watchers in a mythic tradition, the ones who stand at the edge of the fire, not to fight, not to run, but to hold the line. They didn't choose the bear, they didn't command the armor. They just guide, observe and correct when needed. But what happens when a watcher starts to care too much? What happens when they start believing? That's what you just witnessed.
Speaker 1:See Alistair, he's cold, he's calculating, he's precise, he knows what the armor does. He's seen men crushed by it, women lost to it, entire lifetimes devoured by one piece added too soon. So he distanced himself, not because he's cruel, because he remembers what Katsu is just now starting to forget. That hope is heavy and when you're wrong it gets people killed. And Katsu, she's breaking the rules, not with her actions, but with her heart. She sees something in him she's never seen in others, or maybe maybe she's seeing something in him that reminds her of herself, a piece of the past.
Speaker 1:She never took A silence. She regrets staying in. We don't know yet, but you can feel it, it's there, it's in her voice, it's in her stillness and the tea she keeps pouring to keep her hands busy, Because some truths are easier to sip around than to say out loud. Now let me bring this back to you, because, whether you realize it or not, you're either wearing the armor or you're standing beside someone who is. And that's where it gets dangerous, because when you care deeply for someone going through a transformation, your instinct will be to help, to warn, to shield, to soften the fall. But real watchers, the ones you truly love, they know when to stop guiding and when to start witnessing, because some battles are sacred, some thresholds can't be shared, and if you rob someone of their failure, you might also rob them of their becoming.
Speaker 1:So here's a few reflection prompts for you to explore after this episode. I really want you to take your time with these. They're not meant to be answered quickly, so let's do exercise number one, the reflection. Reflection exercise number one. I should say who are you currently trying to protect that might need to fail?
Speaker 1:Question two in this exercise number one, are you stepping in too much? Are you holding back truth just to spare them pain? And then what might you be robbing them of, even with good intentions? Exercise two have you ever loved someone through transformation that changed you more than it changed them? Ask yourself that question. What did you carry silently? What did you learn that no one saw? And did they ever know what it cost you to watch?
Speaker 1:Exercise number three watch Exercise number three. Where in your life are you the bear and who are your watchers? Are you letting them help? Are you resenting their silence or are you mistaking the restraint for abandonment? Reflection exercise number four what armor are you putting on right now and why? What are you afraid to feel without it? Are you building protection. Are you building a prison? And whose voice told you to wear it in the first place? Reflection exercise number five Write a letter to the watcher you never thanked alive or gone, real or imagined, the one who saw you when no one else did, the one who didn't try to fix you but just held space while you unraveled. You don't have to send it, but write it and I'll close with this. Sometimes, closure isn't a door you walk through, it's the one you close gently behind you.
Speaker 1:You know, guys, this was a pretty heavy episode. There's a lot going on here, but take your time with these exercises. This is going to be a heavy one. These are heavy, but you're going to see a lot of growth that comes from these. Okay, and talking about growth, I want to thank everybody. We're getting so many more new listeners. Thank you, guys, so much for spreading the word of Gent Journey and really growing this community. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it. And talk about appreciation. Like I said, if this is your first time listening, welcome to the show.
Speaker 1:But also, too, share. If you love this, share this with a friend or a family member. Right, get this message out, I would appreciate it, and if you're someone who wants to talk more about this episode, or maybe you have some questions on these exercises, don't hesitate to reach out to me. There's three ways. First way is going to be through the description here on the podcast. It'll say let's chat. You click on that and you and I can have a conversation about, you know, some of these questions on these exercises. I'm here to help you. Second way is going to be through my email. My email is anthonyatgentsjourneycom, so feel free to reach out to me there. And then, last but not least, you always can go to my Instagram. My Instagram is mygentsjourney, so feel free to reach out to me there too. Guys, thank you so very much for listening today and remember this you create your reality. Take care Bye.