Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


How impudent and provocative this aliveness of our baby is! All of a sudden it hits me like a blow to the head (a blow that makes the whole body quiver all around): I am going to die. A peculiarly exciting, unsettling thought, which a moment later is calming, throws open a door, unclutters the view. Fright is followed by joy, joy follows the fright. I am going to die – finally (with a glance at the baby) an abstract sentence finds its meaning, yields the sense of its reality (this is what we want in all our sentences, that they step out of the shadow of abstraction; and is what we fear in all sentences). And there our baby still stands before me (I’m still on the couch with a sore throat and a stuffed nose, in a fever), he’s clutching my scarf with his left hand, a chubby-faced impudence in his look, reminding me, no, not of my death but only now evoking it in my consciousness (I’m almost tempted to say, only now enabling me to think it). And then the grip on my scarf tightens, I have the impression our baby is leaning back, hanging on my neck with a kind of cozy comfort, making himself nice and heavy, and in the tensile force that is throttling my throat, I am no longer thinking of my death but of my eternity.




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