Government agents are called
“spooks” for a reason. They glide in and out of civilian population unnoticed,
they leave no footprints, they watch without being watched – like ghosts. This
is an idealized portrayal, of course, but it is, more or less, the archetype by
which an ordinary human is trained to become something extraordinary …something
almost supernatural. A person of good character, sound mind, and athletic build
is selected from a list of applicants – interviewed in a building with no name,
in a room that is listed in no directory. They are selected by the shepherds
and delegated as sheepdogs in charge of the flock; we are the sheep.
Most of us are
content to go about our business grazing through sales at shopping malls,
herding together on congested freeways, and bleating about the latest celebrity
breakup on Twitter – and even more of us haven’t given the slightest thought to
the motives of the shepherds that govern us. Then, there are those of us that
are aware of something greater than bleating, grazing, and being periodically
shorn of our wool (taxes) to provide for the shepherd. We are not sheep; we
don’t follow the herd, we look up when others look down, we are born with keen
senses and defend ourselves with tooth and claw when threatened. We were never chosen
by the shepherds to serve the flock, but we are sheepdogs, nonetheless.
To clarify my metaphor for a
moment, understand that shepherds breed their sheepdogs to grow up and live
among the sheep as one of them. The sheep accept the sheepdog as one of their
own, and the sheepdog considers itself a sheep, imprinting to the flock as its
family. The dog’s coat grows out, the dog follows its surrogate family as they
go about their business, and it slowly becomes nearly indistinguishable from the
flock. Yet, the dog still craves meat, it still howls at the moon, and is
casually aware that while it belongs with the sheep, it has abilities that
surpass theirs. It’s only when a wolf cases the flock that the sheepdog becomes
fully aware of its true purpose.
The wolf and the
sheepdog stand eye-to-eye, reflecting the image of one another. They both stand
poised with their fur erect, their fangs bared, and their ears back – nearly
indistinguishable from each other, but never quite acknowledging they are kin.
The wolf was never bred among the flock, nor does he care for it. The wolf was
never fed, nor sheltered by the shepherd. To the wolf, the sheep are not
family, the shepherd is not his lord – they are all prey, and he is the
predator. Under different circumstances, the wolf and the sheepdog would band
together, side-by-side, and take their fill of meat, but the sheepdog is not a
wolf. The sheepdog fights for its flock with the same ferocity and cunning as
the wolf fights to devour it. They are both equal, but opposite.
At that moment, the sheepdog is
both the sheep and the wolf.
At that moment, the sheepdog is
neither the sheep, nor the wolf.
At that moment… the sheepdog is
its own animal.
The Common Bond is intended to be
more of a parody of the “Bond Lifestyle” and a blog of ideas that are much less
severe than the sheepdog concept, but I wanted to get this post out of the way
because I feel it’s an important concept to know, if not to follow. I am my own
person and I will never be James Bond, nor will I be one of the “tacticool”
civilian sheepdogs strutting around in quasi-military gear as I guzzle cans of
Pabst Blue Ribbon. Of course I’m a huge fan of 007 films, luxury sports cars,
and premium technology, but I don’t have an Mi6 government budget to afford
that fanciful lifestyle. This blog is for every man or woman that would be
Bond, but has settled for simply living according to the “grey man” concept and
otherwise accepted the malaise of suburban life. We can’t afford the Anthony
Sinclair suits and Omega watches, but we’re also not shuffling around in jean
shorts and camo print t-shirts, either. The grey man is clean cut and mild, so
I prefer khakis and a polo shirt as my trademark “uniform.”
However, just because
you live in the suburbs and work a boring office job from 9 to 5, doesn’t mean
that awareness, fitness, and preparedness aren’t available to you. Anyone can
be given the tools and training to guide their own fate, because when seconds
count, help is always minutes away. You can call for help and wait, or you can
be called for help and act! I chose to be the latter a long time ago. Ever since
my father gave me a Swiss army knife when I was about 10, I have always taken
comfort in being prepared. My friends can barely be bothered to carry anything
but their phone. Most of the time, they will even forget THAT. I always carry my wallet, my phone, a
multi-tool, and my keys. If capacity and circumstance permits, I’ll also carry
a lighter, a spare phone battery, a flashlight, a pen… and a gun. You may carry
all of these things and more. You may carry none of them. Many will be appalled
at the idea of carrying a gun, but remember that a license to carry isn’t a
license to kill. It’s just a license to bring something more than a knife to a
gunfight, because a wolf won’t wait until you’re ready for an attack.
I’ll save the debate over guns
for another post, and you can ask all about what, where, and why I carry
another time. There’s plenty of other blogs and forums for that anyway. For
now, I’ll return you to the regularly scheduled spy shenanigans and geek gear.
Cheers!
