BROTHERHOOD

This is an as-it-happened account written in 1999.

We met at Adrienne and Martin Cochrane’s house in Pimlico, December 1982, at a coffee evening for The Mastery (a powerful transformational weekend workshop) that Martin and I had set up. We wanted to enrol a special Professional Actor’s Mastery for 1983.

Ray sat in the corner – big, wide, deep brown eyes and middle length Afro haircut. I found out later how sensitive he was about his hair when I fondly ruffled his coiffure in a Samurai (business motivation) session, and he hit the roof – ‘Don’t ever do that to a black man’s hair! Don’t you have any idea what it takes to get it to look like this?’

And no, I didn’t. It was one of the many things I didn’t know and wanted to know, to learn more about a person with different hair, skin, race and cultural background.

Our difference was the main thing that attracted me to Ray. He was originally from Detroit, USA and I was originally from Glasgow, UK. As part of my next steps declaration from my own life-changing Mastery experience I stated that I wanted to have a close black male friend. That December evening in Pimlico was the beginning.

He told me later that I had inspired him then to begin this next chapter of his life journey. We somehow had both fulfilled our destiny in meeting each other. Only at the end did I realise the importance of my role in his life and death. As in life, we took it in turns to take the lead in his death.

In 1994, when he came back from LA on a short holiday around his birthday in November, he told me that he had been living with his HIV diagnosis for about a year. We went walking and talking on Hampstead Heath, our favourite spot. He expressed his resolution ‘to beat this thing,’ to work with it, to live alongside it and to allow it to be his guide to a deeper understanding of things spiritual. We marked how ironic it was that he, an experienced AIDS Mastery leader, was now “in it – to win it”. He also talked about his fear of it and how it might dampen his driving Hollywood dream. He talked about how he couldn’t bear to fail with it, how he couldn’t let himself, or his mother Helena down.

When he came back from LA for the last time, on Martin Luther King Day in January 1999, we walked on the heath and talked again about his disappointment, his failure, the feeling that he had indeed let himself down and how hard he found that to live with. He seemed to be the victim of his own tyrannical positivism.

But, of course, there was lots that happened between us in those seventeen years since we’d first met.

Ray was my hero, mentor, teacher and pupil. He led me to parts of myself that no one else could reach. He challenged my perceptions – not only about race and spirit but also about irreverence, glorification and leadership. We shared a deep desire to serve people and, in our own ways, the planet. He was impressed and challenged by my constancy in my relationship with Ric. We supported each other through the long, dull, endless out-of-work actor days and we cheered each other’s success in getting work. We competed against each other in the race to lead The Mastery – he won.

He supported my ambition to bring the AIDS Mastery to the UK, Europe and beyond – little did we know then its significance in both our lives. I abandoned him to go on my rainforest quest, which was to change my life course again. He returned the abandonment when he chased his Hollywood dream.

So when the end came, we had a wealth of relationship to feed from. When the end came it was up to me to tell him the truth. When the end came, I made the call to Helena to warn her of the little time left. When the end came, we suffered and celebrated together. When the end came it was a hard and glorious journey. It was about listening and responding, searching, finding, losing and winning.

I want to tell the story of those last magnificent days.