Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


oder über den Online-Buchhandel

Unexpectedly we run into to the thought that we don’t wish to share our happiness with anyone. We (the baby, you, I) form a kind of cell (fruit of very recent fertilization), which in its uniqueness has committed itself to a kind of stasis. The strange wish not to want to share (and thereby divide) ourselves is inscribed in it. Thus our fortune resembles a (surprisingly robust) soap bubble that permits itself to be wafted through the day: its smoothly tensioned skin may reflect everything that comes its way, but nothing is likely to penetrate the bubble. Only another (obvious) thought makes it burst: Being the baby (in happiness) is sharing.

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