Last night I dreamt of a sheep, who stood by the boundaries of his rusty pen, held a cup of coffee in one hoof and looked introspectively out beyond the demarcations he’d lived within his whole life. The company of the sheepfold as usual, were gathered together a small distance away from him-blissfully enjoying their lush green grass and discussing the fine weather. One of the lot noticed my coffee handling herbivore and skipped cheerfully over to him.
“What’s up mate?” He bleeted in a so annoying local Birmingham accent.
My coffee lad tinkered his hoof briefly against the mug before replying. “You know that story about that bob sheep that supposedly got lost and was joyfully found again by his trusty shepherd?”
“Yayyy…” Came the reply from the newcomer with a simple smile, “…that heartwarming legend.”
CoffeeSheep takes a sip off his brew, “Yes that one. I think the whole thing was a hoax. The happenings of the events were twisted-I think that the Bob in question was never lost in the first place. I think he got sick and tired of this rusty old pen, broke out, was living the life in Vegas, until the so called good shepherd rounded him up and dragged his woolly ass back to this shithole.”
The newcomer is quiet for a while, looses the all the gay in his expression and finally manages to mutter, “Heresy…How could you ever come up with such insanity?!”
CoffeeBob taps his woolly cranium briefly and answers smartly, “I spent the night talking to the winds and thinking things out. The winds have been here for all ages you know. They see all things, and for all who would humbly ask, they can help direct you into the truth of the universe.”
“Gentle Most Blessed shepherd…this one has lost his marbles! I told you all that coffee who’ve been drinking would soon soak up all your brain!”
“At least you acknowledge that I have a brain… Can’t say any more for the rest of you slacks.” Coffee murmured under his breath, “My point though is…if you can understand any of this underworded tirade, I have found recognition in the life of that sheep. All my years of built up convictions is failing to hold me down any longer…the world that I used to know as certain and true is falling to pieces all around me”
“I fear I do not understand you.” My simpleton companion creased his eyebrow.
Coffee notioned at the gate of the sheep pen. “You see those gates Bob. Tomorrow, I’m going to walk through it, out of here, into the wild-without any rod or staff insisting the ways I should go.”
Simple Bob’s easy eyes rounded. “You are going astray?!”
“Does it really matter…I have already been long gone in my heart –desires, aspirations et all.”
“Yes…Jesus…”Coffee’s voice trailed off into thoughts and another long drawn sip of brew. “Have you ever stayed up at night to watch the stars Bob, and observe what goes on whilst you sleep within these pen?”
“Ahhh never. You know the shepherd forbids us to open our eyes whilst the night is near.”
Coffee dismisses the admission with unmasked cyniscm. “Yes,the manor house rules...” He shifts into an interested position and his face lights up. “I will tell you a secret mate. During the nights when I stay awake, a woman sheep in golden fleece appears to me!”
Bob looks about with urgency and undenied fear “The tempter of many colours! The one the shepherd warns us about!”
Coffee, with ardent impatience, “Can you forget about the fucking shepherd and his moonlight tales for once, and think for yourself! There is nothing evil about samera. She is just a sheep like the rest of us…only with the experience of the taste of freedom my heart seeks after”
“Bob, samera has ridden on the wings of the wild winds, she tells me she has tasted the rawness of the morning’s dew before the shepherd brings the filtered remnants to the rest of us. She has been to places I have only imagined in my wildest imaginations…and if I should tell you stories of the things she has done…you will certainly skip many a heartbeat and collapse your simple heart.”
Bob, with quiet realization “So you want to leave the sheep pen and go off with samera?”
Coffee looks out into the open, “Not necessarily Bob. I love the Pen, and the security it brings. It’s sane here, predictable, safe…But I need to have tasted the other side of things too. You may not understand the dilemma my restless heart presents to me.”
*Can I not have a week already atoned of even before I live it? Can I get a wildcard- like, “…take these days coffee,without accountability and do as your wildest heart would wish. Travel to spain, dance with the gypsies, indulge in pagan type orgies and when your heart has been satisfied, then you may come back home.” Should I go with samera, will he maybe keep the doors open for my return?”
Bob replies, with unexpected intelligence, “If you are so cynic of the rules, why then do you care about returning to its restrictions?”
“Maybe..because these are not just the stupid ramblings of a simple Bob…but of one who knows the truth and the repercussions of things. But really, is repercussion and truth enough to restrain a wild child?”