Baby d is growing. And with growth comes pain. And with pain comes dust. Because the grows in her sleep. And when you sleep, you don’t move. And when you don’t move, dust falls on you. Either from above, or from what was already there. Your past.

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Baby d sleeps with books, she sleeps in them, on them, with them. She sleeps with her eyes open, so you never know whether she is reading or sleeping. Not moving is not a good indicator to decide which is which, because while reading she also does not move. And therefore she collects dust either way.

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Standing up, awake from dreaming, done with reading, you can shake the dust off (if the world would allow you to end a sentence with a preposition). Baby d got one of the books from the shelf and opened them, the same speed she chose to open up to today. Maybe there will be cracks where dust falls in, but it’s now out in the open, like baby d. Growing. And awake!

‘Potamotrygorgeous! It says something about voices in heads! Are you sure this this my dream?’

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Baby d inquired further. Pages filled with ponderings over truth, feelings, knowledge…

‘You know Potamotrygorgeous.. I don’t mind the voice in my head, as long as he is telling me the truth.’

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‘And what’s this? I like my words short, matching the length of me being awake that day.’

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‘It’s about individuality,’ Jomo read, who was up since this morning. ‘That somesheep’s individuality seems to dissolve and fade away into boundless being when thissheep is with you.’

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Baby D didn’t know how to reply, it was long words but also long sentences that were not her cup of tea. So back-up arrived. The herder and the sheep came. Not sure which was which, but when you are both present, distinction is of lesser importance. We couldn’t read this story without sheep, so we took the book out of it all, because once you get the meaning of something, you can forget the words.

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‘That my individuality seems to dissolve and fade away into boundless being when I am with you,’ dream sheep said.

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Baby d didn’t know how to reply. This view of her was so subtle and delicate that her understanding could not grasp it.

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‘You know..’ dream sheep continued.. ‘knowledge is felt, not thought. So I understand your silence. I always wondered.. what if my inner sense of reality is in fact not a delusion, but an actual experience?’

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‘Potamotrygorgeous, is dream sheep talking about a deja vu?’

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‘Yes,’ dream sheep comforted, ‘or a jamais vu for that matter.’

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‘You know that feeling of strangeness? As if you have not heard the words before?’

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And when dream sheep bowed down to the growth of baby d, a yes was uttered. And a question back: ‘you mean the memory of an emotion?’

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‘Yes,’ dream sheep said excited, ‘or the echo of hearing me say I love you.’

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‘You are destined for great things, you do know that don’t you?’

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‘You don’t need me, as long as you grasp the meaning of me. The same way Potamotrygorgeous didn’t need the words any more to tell you what I needed to say.’

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‘Okay,’ Jomo said, ‘I am awake much longer than baby d, but even I don’t understand the significance of this all.’

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‘That is perfectly all right,’ dream sheep said, ‘because when you sleep about it a bit longer, you too will derive pleasure from questions, not answers.’

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