My Friend ... The Shepherd

"It's been a while, my friend," I hadn't seen my straightforward interlocutor, who maneuvers with meaning and depth, and ambiguously stays on point without faltering in his delightful conversations. I asked him about his absence; he told me he left the bustle of the city and its lively discussions in cafes, the corridors of capital buildings, the offices of its abundant politicians, and the intellectuals with their ornate phrases, abundant discussions, and extensive writings of labels and definitions. I thought to myself that if he continued his monologue, we would face a double catastrophe from politicians and intellectuals; so I hurried to ask about his work, stating that this is a practical question that doesn’t allow for evasion in answering and unleashing his sharp tongue.

My friend, who returned from his absence, replied that he tends sheep. I said your tongue has betrayed you; "it's called sheep herding."... My friend laughed loudly until I felt ashamed in front of the looks from those sitting in the café... I informed him that we studied that at school; it was written in the educational curriculums, and I had never seen anyone call themselves a sheep herder or a guardian of sheep... He laughed mischievously... I realized that I was in front of another catastrophe; thus, I quickly asked him why he chose to tend sheep instead of herding goats.

He sighed a little and said that herding is about observation and preservation, which are the duties of a shepherd who cares and tends to them; meaning, he who tends to a matter must be aware of its fate and consider its consequences; politically speaking, it’s someone who contemplates and makes decisions on behalf of others for their benefit and safety... I thought to myself that if I hadn’t asked him, I would have entered into a new battle of hidden words and latent meanings and symbolic indications... I tried to outwit him with a question hoping to escape his absurd rationale for choosing sheep over goats.

He jumped onto his answer—as if he had achieved his goal or, more accurately, directed me to his aim—"sheep, my friend, are mischievous and always on the move; they do not leave space; their freedom is absolute, like the thinking elite—" I thought we had fallen into evil again—he quickly added that they need more attention to their impact on sheep, framing them, and leading them... However, sheep, my friend, obey commands and measures that I impose or release without any effort or need to run after them or stand in front of them. Just throwing a stone can guide their path, and they do not stray here or there behind their desires; they fear my wrath, and they are docile and do not rebel against my decisions, nor disobey my orders controlling their movements and feeding.

He went on to say that this isn’t the only reason that led me to tend sheep; the open space grants me more opportunities for contemplation, and the vastness of the mountains allows me to distance myself from the chatter of political and cultural elites in the city filled with noise and shouting, and solitude increases my conviction that the weight lies in collectivity, not in life.

He unleashed his voice saying, "I am the shepherd possessing the decision without consultation; I issue my orders without fear of rebellion from the sheep or their protests or disobedience from some of them, for my command is correct, and my knife is ready"... I hurriedly stood up not knowing if it was out of fear or rejection, but I said to him I'm glad to see you, although I didn’t realize our meeting.