Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


Back (again) in the rich city (each time it feels a little more like a return) we (the baby, I) find access to the dome via the residence, while you linger in front a painting downstairs (as if spellbound, captivated, stunned). Our path takes us to the gallery, and up there we listen (myself sitting on a stoop next to the organ, the baby leaning against my breast) to a Mass. We are moved by the grave chant of the chorus, but then even more by the sudden motion of the worshippers rising to their feet and streaming toward the altar to receive communion. It appears to me as if all these souls were collectively breaking out of their cage, I feel the blood in my heart and intense emotion and the sense of a strangely sad gaze resting upon me. Then I realize that our baby is lying on the altar down there and being distributed, but before I can make out the details, I am already falling out of this uncanny dream.

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