When I sleep, Basq shepherds visit me in my dreams.
We sit under tree's that transcend time and space,
atop rolling green pastures that span the life of
human civilization. I the son of a Basq man, my
father the son of a Basq man, my grandfather the
son of a Basq man. The paternal blood that flows
through my veins, originates at a date well before
the idea of Spain, Colombia or The States. Beginning
centuries before its pinnacle as the Kingdom of Pamp-
lona, the Basq homeland withstood Roman legions,
French Revolutions, and Spanish Fascism. Perhaps,
it was the step from noble warrior to humble sheep-
herder that led to the universal Basq diaspora.
Whatever the cause of the profound profusion of
Basq progeny, I feel part of their success finds
root in the spiritual candor of Christ's idea of
the gentle shepherd: ever watchful of its delicate
flock. The eternal homeland of Basq shepherds,
nestled in the majesty of the Pyrenees. Yet, sti-
ffled by the nation-state apparatus; smothered,
under the guise of Spanish nationalism and the
plague that still bears its crown of gold and op-
pression in the form of European Royalty. Though,
the children of this classic place in time and
history have found honored pasture to thrive,
in places like New Zealand, the western United
States, in Colombia and throughout the Americas.
The children of this ancient land still,
gesticulate the same life patterns that their
ancestors have carried with love and dignity,
since before antiquity.