IF I WERE NOT A SHEEP
I am huddled in a herd of sheep while my shepherd has gone looking for the one that got themselves lost. That poor schmuck is probably baa-ing his way along the muddy edges of a creek we crossed ages ago. I feel bad for them, I suppose, but I am terrified that the shepherd left me undefended, with 98 of my sheep-peers. Peers who I know I can count on for warmth and company only up until the point that a creature of prey gets close enough to scatter us and attack. So it is a risk that my shepherd was willing to take, that we too might become lost sheep.
If I were not a sheep, I would recognize the meaning behind the parable I am contained within. I would see my shepherd as a God-figure and meditate on truth: that it is not possible to be separate from God, that it is a human construct to feel lost and unsafe.
But I am a sheep. So the sky turns dark and grey while I am imagining my lostness.
When my shepherd returns with the lost sheep, poor schmuck, I am still imagining my own lostness. And this feeling of almost-lost is what allows me to join the celebration of the found sheep. I can imagine, too clearly, what it was like to feel alone and without warmth and company.
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