Mona 1 (myself) sleeps. Meanwhile, in Tent Visions 12, she seems to sit up after seeing a huge bird watching her from behind the tree. The same vision my dog had hours earlier — that bird behind the tree — watches me, and I sit up, float a little, hidden inside my sleeping bag, as if the bird were calling me. The Mona, or I, is there, asleep, rocked by an ontological clock, or a pulse that could be my heartbeat, or the passing of my life through this world.