Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


oder über den Online-Buchhandel

The first babies have already disappeared and more and more are following them. Nursery, daycare, these are the foursquare, clumsy names of their new home (first for one or two hours, then for half a day, eventually a whole day). The babies vanish behind woven barriers, as if they had to be hidden and protected. They are gathered together into random groups to be taken care of by unknown women. They are brought and picked up. The parents drop off the babies before they have learned their lessons. Inspired by a strange faith (in doing and making and work), they feel free. They are harried by fear. The daily practice with their babies has become a burden to them. Enough! they call out. Necessity! they cry. Sure, sure, we feel the pain, but such is life! They don’t know this: the sadness of the babies will return some day. (At this point our baby admonishes us to remember the story of the wicker basket and the abandoned child. And the daughter of Pharao.)



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