A trio of years prior, I embarked on a purposeful venture. My aim was to rear twelve sheep on our ancestral land and simultaneously gain understanding about existence beyond the mundane. This was my spiritual journey and the sheep were instrumental in solidifying my global exploration in my quest for the essence of life.
My journey’s genesis was distinct. Having finished penning a book, I was experiencing severe fatigue, which my wife labelled as burnout. I referred to it as an exhaustion of the soul. I was spent, worn thin, and despite numerous attempts at initiating fresh ventures or writing, very little materialised. Occasional flashes of inspiration – a potential book focussed on the rock art of Aboriginal Australians, a project centred around awe – came and went, and much to my dismay, each concept seemed to shrivel and fade, leaving me staring at blank pages and incomplete works.
During this phase, the works of John Clare, an accomplished English poet who romanticised rural and agricultural life in the 1800s, emerged in my life. He had written about being in the embrace of nature, of slumbering in peaceful terrain where grass lined the earth below and a sublime sky loomed above, and one could exist in harmony with the divine creator. One such stanza from his engaging poem “I Am!” particularly resonated with me and it reawakened my dwindling interest in nature’s beauty. I dismissed my dreams of authoring more books and delved into the vibrant reality of our family farmstead. It was in this serene sanctuary that I took a halt from the speedy rhythm of life and gradually attuned to nature’s leisurely tempo.
When we commit to the rhythm of nature, extraordinary things can transpire. Our minds can be liberated, and we can escape the ingrained ways of thinking, a concept coined by Eckhart Tolle. I transacted with my parents to acquire 12 hoggets, a breed nurtured on our farm. As their shepherd for a season, I was given an insight into various tasks from shearing to dosing and even hoof maintenance. They’re peaceful creatures and occasionally require our assistance. Ignoring an unwell sheep can lead to its untimely end if not paid enough attention by a vigilant shepherd.
The arrival of the first lamb was a moment of revelation for me that pursuits of fascination don’t necessarily have to transpire in distant landscapes or historical sites. We introduced a ram in the autumn and soon the ewes were carrying, or “in lamb”. Upon witnessing this, I was convinced that my efforts were meaningful. Observing the lambing season and the birth of lambs from my 12 sheep imparted life lessons with each new birth.
It’s evident to me now that the lessons to be learned are abundant in our daily lives, but for us to recognise them, an open mind and a sense of receptivity are prerequisites. Toiling the land nurtures a bond with animals, the soil, and the bounty of the land. I had been a farmer for some years after returning from Australia, but becoming a shepherd in my capacity was significant. It was a test of my reputation and made me introspect on life.
During the winter months, I found solace between my flock’s shed and my bed. It was time well spent, fostering observations and reflections. My father was acquainted with John McGahern, a renowned writer, whom he met during livestock brokerages in Leitrim. Even though our paths never crossed, his words about the local embodying the universal have resonated with me. As I continued to shepherd through the lambing season, I realised this experience was tying me to life’s machinations not only across the country but globally.
Throughout my time with the sheep, reflecting on their existence and purpose, I embarked on a remarkable, inward quest. Even though I scarcely left the pen, I traversed various mental landscapes and revisited distinct periods of my past. Unexpectedly, seeming unrelated experiences started forming connections. As I devoted my efforts to the sheep and the agricultural vocation, memories of working alongside immigrant farmers in America, prior to the COVID-19 outbreak, came flooding back. At times, my mind wandered back to a vibrant spoken-word scene that had flourished in Dublin during my university days and pondered over the enduring and enriching power of poetry. Remarkably, even meandering across the fields served as a form of mental journey and during one such walk, memories of my treks on the Camino in Spain came back. My mind’s interconnectedness showed that regardless of my physical confinement within the sheep pen, I was simultaneously connected to the wider world. It was an eerily transcendent sensation.
When the arrival of the first lamb came, assisting with its birth served as a reminder that a journey to wonderment need not take one to distant territories or historical monuments; it could be discovered in the miracle of newborn life. Standing before our humble painting of St Francis in the pen, I came to see the pursuit of beauty as profound a calling as any major religious pilgrimage.
One tranquil winter on the farm, I took it upon myself to trees across the property. These trees held significant meaning for me. When running errands like visiting the vet for medicine or stopping by the local shop for a hot coffee or a sausage roll, it dawned on me that the spirit of the local community in rural Ireland contributed to a broader discourse on the survival of rural communities globally. It hit me that we were all land people, and we relied on each other to sustain a harmonious ecosystem that celebrated revival and regeneration. This discussion is increasingly relevant given the current challenges faced by rural populations and the evolving face of their villages and towns.
During a calm phase on our farmland that winter, I embarked on a mission to cultivate trees on our land. These trees held a significant meaning for me. They were symbolic of a commitment I was offering to future generations about our environment’s wellbeing. Environmental conservation was a topic I found myself deeply engaged in. My sentiments on this matter have only grown and solidified over the three years since that lambing season. We all rely on and yearn for a lush landscape, however, I came to realise the sensitive equilibrium underlying it all. My father counselled me then; that we could only burden a modest creature so much.
Even though our agricultural processes have evolved, the animals remain unchanged. It’s important for us to remember this. We must strive to think not of the present, but much like the Native Americans, we should think six generations ahead.
In raising 12 sheep including their lambs, I wasn’t rolling in riches, but I experienced the bestowment of immense prosperity. Rearing these sheep propelled me into a mindset where I saw value in everything. What slowly dawned on me was that while financial stability mattered, it wasn’t the be-all and end-all of life.
I yearned to acquire knowledge about life’s mysteries. In retrospect, I believe my pursuit was to discover the essence of existence. I’d often heard intellectuals and authors embark on this search. Yet, perhaps the most satisfactory response I came across was – life itself is what we make of it.
My companionship with the sheep and my reflections about their lives and purpose, I sailed on a profound voyage. Despite seldom stepping out of the barn, I found myself visiting different phases of my life without physically moving.
I chose to devote a season solely to shepherding, shelving my writing profession. A critical revelation for me was the necessity to decelerate. Significant outcomes can be achieved in slowing down. Observing the creatures entrusted to us during my summer farm patrol, I cherish the delightful influence of the land’s steady wisdom. This ‘slow wisdom’, as I perceive it, embodies insightful instinct. Slowing down enables us to notice how everything is interconnected. We all share this journey of existence.
Reflecting on burnout, I emerged rejuvenated, transformed into a writer of a new ilk. I began to ponder and feel more deeply, becoming more reserved, taking time to truly listen. If we can manage to hear the earth’s whispers, we can accomplish monumental feats.
Time flowed from weeks to months to years. The lambs from the initial year have departed, yet their teaching resonates with me daily. Beneath the celestial dome, I unveiled a hidden segment of existence; I found myself.
Discovering oneself is a quest we all undertake at different junctures in life. Sometimes, a flock of 12 sheep is the catalyst to this discovery. But my aspiration is that others may tread on the path I opened, to find their own symbolism of the 12 sheep, be they tangible or metaphorical. We all need guidance occasionally, and the experience of being a shepherd.
And if I were to explain the significance of life, I believe I’ve deciphered a fragment, at least to my understanding.
As I pen down these words, my gaze lands on the images of sheep gracing my office window. They bring me joy which is significant. The grand earth mother or Pachamama holds abundant lessons for us. The expedition with the sheep was merely the commencement on the pathway of understanding life.
The harmony between farming and writing is now apparent to me. Art doesn’t restrict itself to urban landscapes, an insight I have gained. Everything fits into the larger picture, fostering a sense of belonging. Perhaps, this encapsulates the grand lesson, the universal truth – we all belong somewhere.
This morning, watching the sheep in the rain, I felt a calmness radiating from them. The chores of the day vanished from my thoughts, replaced with the awareness of my happiness in the present. This ability to cherish moments has made a world of difference. All things are of equal significance, I have now realised, bringing joy to my work.
John Connell, acclaimed writer, journalist and film producer, and recipient of numerous awards, spends his days on his organic family-run farm, Birchview in Co Longford. His most recent publication is 12 Sheep, brought out by Atlantic books.
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