‘Hey you. I’ve been waiting. You know I am not gonna ask you what’s wrong, right?’
We hesitated. We knew we came to the right sheep for this, we looked at the whole flock and they got all excited, but when we truly asked them, all eyes went to the mirror, where the only thing we saw was sheepself. We couldn’t make that picture. How could Confession Sheep address us if we couldn’t look ourselves in the eye even? We wanted to disappear, be invisible, be wiped out like a smudge on a dirty mirror, just like the idea of mental stretch marks that were once wrapped around our body so tight that they cut in the flesh. It was nothing.
‘It’s not visible, but that doesn’t make it nothing. I can feel it. You know that. You can feel it. That’s why you came to me. So it is something. I can see you. So you are something. Something for sure! Don’t reduce things to nothingness, because nothingness doesn’t exist. You exist. Please communicate more clear. You weren’t given a voice for nothing. Could you give it a name? Give it a name. Please try and give birth to your true self.’
We mumbled.. we cried untearingly, if that ever would become a word. We tried so many things and times to get away, but we always took the wrong path, because we always ended up all.. well, by.. ourselves.
‘Very good. This is progress. What does that tell you, Potamotrygorgeous?’ Confession Sheep asked. ‘What could it mean? It can mean endless things, but only you can give your meaning to it, so unless you claim your version of the truth, it will claim you and keep you feeling suffocated by your surroundings and past.’
It’s about this thing.. you know.. meaningless violence, and not in the way the Dutch conceptualize (and almost cultivate) it. That people don’t understand why we didn’t go to the police if we were attacked so brutally. How can people not understand that the worst violence a person sometimes can have is that towards oneself? In word or deed? Or even worse.. in what you didn’t say or do? How can we explain that to a copper, Confession Sheep? Please file a police report against.. eh.. us? Hey officer, we are our own prosecutors, and would now like to turn ourselves in because we commit crimes against humähnity, namely us. We have gone on trial and error and we were found guilty!
Confession Sheep did what we needed him to do. He listened. And he knew it was not about everything we just talked about. He knew we needed that detour.
‘Just say it, Potamotrygorgeous. The world will not die if you say the words. Some things are better left not said, and I know that some of those words did actually reach your soul, but this is not one of those words. You know this too, that’s why you came to me, of all the sheep you could have chosen, you choose me. And you know why you choose me, right?’
‘It’s not about confessions, Potamotrygorgeous. You are not me, you are not my confessions. You are not my past. We are the same, in a way, even if I look at you like this, you’re always a bit the same.’
‘You have given me this status, Potamotrygorgeous, underwhile thinking it was me who saved you, it was me who voiced you. Because you needed to see it like that. Ever thought that it might be the other way around? That it is me who needs you? And that everytime I let you walk away, it is me who feels alone? Could that make a new reality, thinking of that possibility? Can you live with my hesitant hypotheses?’
We didn’t know who gave a hand of hoof to whom. This was better than looking in the mirror, knowing that our souls would never reflect on a 2D screen. This was it. We are not ready, we thought..
‘Yes, this is it. And I promise you, Potamotrygorgeous, that there comes a time where you are ready and when you don’t feel the need any more to give words to what you came to me for. I know what you came for, and so did you, and that goes without saying, so you don’t have to say the words.. am here for the long run, sheep for life, remember?’