Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


I’m happy to persist in my ongoing life (as for your ongoing life, there’s nothing I can say about it, as though eternity were always only one’s own; the eternity of our baby on the other hand is obvious: it is presence itself; the biggest riddle is how I manage to feel mortal and eternal at the same time, without even having heard a single religious word or promise. Happy afterlife of faith.) Happy afterlife of faith: that’s our baby. Am I living on through our baby? It doesn’t look like that (a few kicks against my chest while he lies on the changing table produce some clarity: Don’t kid yourself, Dad. But I’ll gladly preserve you from seeking your ongoing life anywhere other than in yourself, in fact I’m preserving you from seeking it at all. — A few more kicks from the depths of the uncontrolled, hard to anticipate, powerful, unbridled, they make my chest vibrate. The little feet hit their mark with a bounce, my head too, like a boxer’s jabs, a match between unequal opponents, refreshing, a pleasure I spur on by briefly grabbing his feet. Right after I let go go of them, they explode, and our baby laughs, cackling, without looking at me. It’s easy to kick-box without looking at one’s opponent, the cord of the heating lamp, or something else up there, is more interesting.) Oh, yes, I’m happy to go on living.




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