A Leadership Allegory · Illustrated Talk · 2025
Conference of the Birds
Based on a 12th-century Persian poem by Farid Al-Attar. Illustrations by A. Villarreal.
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Based on a 12th-century Persian poem by Farid Al-Attar. Illustrations by A. Villarreal.
We begin with the hoopoe — protagonist of an ancient story. In Central Asian and Middle Eastern folklore, King Suleman kept one of every bird in his royal aviary. The hoopoe was the wisest of all.
One day, perched high in the mountains overlooking a valley, this wisest of birds spotted something remarkable below.
A gathering. A conference.
The birds of the world had gathered in crisis. No president. No sultan. No king, no queen. No leader. The world was ungoverned, rudderless — and they knew it.
Something had to be done.
The hoopoe had seen something in a dream: Simorgh — the mythical king of all birds — dwelling atop the great mountain of Mt. Qaf, surrounded by a palace of impossible beauty.
Let's go at once. Yes! We want to go. No time to waste.
There was their leader, waiting to be found. All they had to do was make the journey.
The hoopoe was clear: the journey to Simorgh was not simple. It would require crossing seven valleys — each one a deeper test of what the birds were made of.
But here was the condition: they would have to go together. No bird could make this journey alone.
Each bird had a reason to stay behind — an attachment, a comfort, a fear. The hoopoe had a response for each of them.
"I am so in love with this rose... it's about to bloom. I cannot leave this beauty behind."
The hoopoe: The beauty you cling to will one day wither and die, as all beauty does.
"Water is life, the source of everything. I am already at the source and cannot leave it."
The hoopoe: You only think you are at the source. You are in nothing but a puddle of dirty water.
"I love to collect gleaming, glittery pieces — jewels, precious stones, golden coins. I cannot leave my riches behind."
The hoopoe: Your treasures are trinkets. Your greed has blinded you to what is truly valuable.
"I am in a cage. It is cramped. But they feed me and I feel safe. It is all I have ever known."
The hoopoe: Your cage is the cage of comfort — that is what truly imprisons you. I am offering liberation.
"I have already seen paradise. I am haunted by its memory and will stay here until I can return."
The hoopoe: That paradise is a small one and you will never return to it. Come with us — we will find a real and lasting one.
"I would go with you, Hoopoe — but I already have a leader. My falconer is my leader."
The hoopoe: You think you have a leader. But you have an owner. That's not the same thing.
Every excuse answered. Every hesitation met with the hoopoe's wisdom. And in the end, they lifted off together — a great murmuration heading toward something none of them could fully imagine.
Seven valleys lay ahead.
"You begin this journey by abandoning all false beliefs — about the world and about yourself. Here, with each breath, you will inhale a hundred calamities. There is no room here for pride, or self-importance, or the things you value and hoard. Stand empty-handed, and the cleansing of your heart begins." — Sholeh Wolpé, trans.
The first valley demands a radical letting go — not of things, but of the stories we tell about who we are and what we deserve.
"Here, unending thirst prevails. Here, a thousand sacrifices are necessary. Shame on you, if you don't know the taste of desire." — Sholeh Wolpé, trans.
Love in this valley is not romantic or comfortable — it is the burning, insatiable love of something beyond yourself. The kind that consumes fear as fuel.
Knowledge, in this valley, strips away certainty rather than building it. Every answer opens into deeper questions. The great suns illuminate, but they also blind.
"Don't drift like an idle, aimless ass." — Sholeh Wolpé, trans.
Knowledge must have direction — it must be in service of the journey, not a substitute for it.
"Here, the seven seas are but a puddle, the seven planets just a spark. If everything should die at once, here it will not matter. Let go of all entitlement, all desire." — Sholeh Wolpé, trans.
Detachment is not apathy. It is the freedom that comes from releasing your grip on outcomes — from leading without needing to own the result.
"Here, the many and the few will merge into one. This is not a place for uniformity — here you find unity in diversity. Everything here is outside of time, outside of measurements." — Sholeh Wolpé, trans.
The great paradox: underneath all our difference, there is oneness. This is not the erasure of individuality — it is the discovery that our singularity was never separate to begin with.
"Are you drunk or no? Do you exist or no? Are you within or without? Are you hidden or manifest? You will respond: I know nothing — not even the breadth of my own ignorance. I am in love but don't know with whom." — Sholeh Wolpé, trans.
Here, your soul is struck with awe. The labyrinth has no clear center, yet you must keep walking. Not-knowing becomes its own kind of wisdom.
"Here, your ego dissolves completely. You are but a drop in the vast ocean. You, pure drop, fall to the ocean and become one with the waves — you are now the same as the current, an expression of its ancient and enduring, shining beauty." — Sholeh Wolpé, trans.
The final surrender. The self you brought to the journey is not the self that arrives.
Some had turned back in terror. Some fell from the sky — unable to go on. Some died of thirst or hunger, some were consumed by what they could not face.
In the end, only thirty birds emerged from the seventh valley. Worn, changed, diminished in number but not in purpose. And there, across a clear lake, they could see Simorgh's palace.
They flew with everything they had left, imagining what Simorgh might be like — what new world they were about to enter. Each bird certain, hopeful, exhausted, transformed.
Then the hoopoe called out: "Look down."
In unison, they looked down into the waters of the clear lake.
And in its calm surface, they saw their own reflection.
"We're here," said the hoopoe.
"You are looking at Simorgh now."
"You are Simorgh."
"And Simorgh is you."
You are the leader you have been looking for.
The word "Simorgh" in Persian means thirty birds.
Yearning, seeking a new way, the promise of something better.
Hesitation, losses, the doubt within.
Alliances, conflict, the determination to go on.
Authenticity, revelation, the recognition of self.
Each of the birds had challenges to overcome.
And each bird had beautiful gifts to offer.
So do you.
