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Loredana Ciobotaru

THE LONELY SHEPHERD


shepherd, healer, path, road, awakening, healing, way, the walking, consciousness, enlightenment, the journey, infinite, the process
THE LONELY SHEPHERD

-- THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED --



Dear You,


Some have found love, and it sufficed. Many have perished for realms and belief. Others have served and awaited. In the meantime, they have bestowed continuity upon the earth. Yet most wander still, their gaze fixed upon the farthest horizon. Why only few choose to exist within the eternal flow of Creation, it remains a mystery. And yet, how many truly are there? To whom is the Path revealed? In the chronicles of Christian dogma, a shepherd often emerges, tending and guiding his flock to abundant pastures. The shepherd is patient, protective, and knows the Way. He is the Truth Itself. The sheep, symbolic of humankind, tread the most arduous path: that of Knowledge and Eternal Existence. Like any mortal, I too, have been lost in the wisdom of the Sages and the meanings of the Sacred Texts; and strangely, just as often, I have found myself anew…


When I first felt the weight of the phrase "THE LONELY SHEPHERD," I stood in an amphitheater nearly empty. My gaze drifted from the rows of vacant seats to the forsaken stage, conjuring imagined scenes of performance, applause born from the stirrings of the heart. Emotion.. Everything laid bare upon that stage created a space where one could recognize their own history. Not perhaps in context, but in the flow of our ordinary or extravagant lives, brimming with just as many felt emotions. Often, I pondered this “RECOGNITION.” It had been the paradoxical guardian of my Journey. Like paths bathed in the silvery glow of a full moon. Why do I say this? Because, more often than not, through recognition, I simultaneously received the unknown, while letting myself be carried by this union, misunderstood even by my own consciousness. I knew without being aware of it... I kept on searching, within this unconscious knowing, and ended up finding in recognition. I did not stop there, and I never will..


Playing with those sunbeams from the furthest row of the amphitheater, the echo of the question still lingered: “Why healer?” Once more, I stood at the crossroads of self-definition. And the definition could never truly capture the whole. Sometimes, I chose to toy with explanations or simply smile. I feared voicing the truth to myself because it sounded too grand for ears. Yet I knew it resonated differently with kindred hearts. And so, I waited for the moment of Now...


All that eludes definition is grounded in love. Love, is enoughHealer, because I loved and believed blindly. Through love, I chose to understand, to explore every room of my soul: I did not shy away even from the darkest corners. With that same love, I walked a Path, leaving fragments of myself behind, trusting they would be reassembled, just as cultures believe in a fervent union. Most profoundly, it was the love of a wounded heart wanting to share the burdens and blessings of the journey with those who choose awakening and courage. 


Healer, because I longed to reunite with myself when the world taught me only to be a fugitive. And perhaps the most beautiful lesson was learning to step outside rather than stay indoors, opening dusty shutters for light. Once you taste everything, you no longer fear poisoning. So it is with the healer. He is the one who walks with open arms to give and receive, no longer guided by the repetitive voice of his past. I believe almost all of us have wounded hearts, but few know how to grant them autonomy. Instead, they bind them to the exhausting image of the philosopher’s stone. The healer brings liberation, first to himself and then to those who trust him.

Yet, he remains acutely aware of his own brokenheartedness and pours love into those empty, scarred spaces. Many voices did not accompany me on this Path. It was not their path, and that’s fair. But I remember when their fears predicted a decisive scenario: 'I would grow increasingly alone if I chose this road at the crossroads'. I received advice and words of pity, but I chose silence and to continue on my Path. To continue in love, not in fear. To choose myself from the Infinite Source of Love. To choose the Journey itself, dear one. I did not know my destination, the places were unfamiliar, but my feet yearned for movement. It's true, on the Path, everything is found — the easiest and the hardest — at one point. Often in survival. But I believe we all owe a meaning to ourselves and to Infinite Love — one and the same essence.


THE LONELY SHEPHERD is not an atypical metaphor for one who chooses the Path of Awakening. He embodies the very Process of Awakening. It is true, it is the hardest Path to choose and follow because it does not promise immediate material happiness. Often, one must wait. And it is not an easy wait. It lacks faces, familiarity, taste, and meaning. How many of us have been taught to pay a price now and receive the reward after an unknown number of years? It is almost unimaginable. It is the trust that must powerfully command mistrust, perhaps even with the same voice.

THE LONELY SHEPHERD is not a static and idolized image of Enlightenment. Each soul has its own definition. And in this lies the highest freedom. It is not a portrait of a sage with a staff and a long beard, nor a definition of undisturbed peace and zen. The sheep do not merely graze peacefully on abundant pastures. Rather, we are urged to remember and embrace everything: what we know — storms, steep hills, arid times, dried-up oases — and what we do not know, gathering only through our dedicated presence. Experiencing everything: one piece of aliveness at a time.

THE LONELY SHEPHERD is neither the hardest nor the most unattainable path; it is not reserved for a select few, nor is it the trophy of a marathon. Sometimes, it is simply floating, or perhaps the scent of a single blade of grass, other times an entire avalanche blocking the most familiar way. It is the right with which you came here, and what you gather after you choose to experience. Many have tried to describe their Journey, but the human mind slips into projections and comparisons, brushing against disappointment. Therefore, I urge you, the one who chooses the Journey, to drink from your own chalice. Be curious to discover new territories and experience life in your own way. Be the knower of your own language, and perhaps share it with others.

THE LONELY SHEPHERD does not necessarily describe the predominance of Solitude on this Journey. On the contrary, here lies the beauty: loneliness is your original right to choose, discovering your uniqueness, wholeness, separation, and being one and the same facet. How lonely does one feel, and when is one truly alone? If we separate the one who is alone from Loneliness and then bridge that chasm, we realize that we still have a way to go. We do not stop here...

In the end, I can say what THE LONELY SHEPHERD truly is: the very Process of Transhumance (Def: the action or practice of moving livestock from one grazing ground to another in a seasonal cycle, typically to lowlands in winter and highlands in summer).

It is no coincidence and it is well known that THE LONELY SHEPHERD is always walking along with the rhythm of life up and down, slow and fast, day and night, in light and darkness — being aware of his sheep, of everything that is around — seen and unseen — and not least of his own steps.  


Listening to my thoughts, observing myself for an hour or perhaps more, a silhouette approaches and sits beside me. She inhales deeply the breeze, carrying the scent of the old, then asks: I understand that we can all be travelers and choose this Journey because it is our original right, but who can be a healer? Without lingering for a moment, I give the only answer revealed to me: the one who is doing the Work by walking this Walk, chosen from a “choiceless choice.” I open my eyes and turn to see the reaction, but find no one beside me. It is just the breeze with the same strong scent, perhaps of smoke or an old library closed for centuries. I wonder, when will I be ready to speak in places other than amphitheaters and distant margins where human footsteps are few? Suddenly, I smile childishly, remembering that my sheep — unable to speak— are the very pages written — unspoken. 

I grab my journal and recall that I must set off on the Road once more...



To the one who loves the movement of life,

I am walking with you.

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