Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


oder über den Online-Buchhandel

The teacher who dwells inside me, and whom I don’t know. The perfect other within me, whom I resemble in all ways, down to the last hair. He couldn’t be more different from me. We are completely the same. And not at all similar (hard to imagine, because I’m an almost fanatic believer in differences). Without this teacher I cannot take a step. The baby, I think–and a connection suggests itself: that the unknown, indwelling teacher is the baby. It’s clever of him not to be able to come up with an explanation for this impossibility (we resemble each other after all).