Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:
http://www.hanser-literaturverlage.de/verlage/hanser-box
While our baby takes his nap, I pack my traveling bag. I will be gone for a few days, while the two of you (the baby, you) stay here. An unfamiliar parting, a first parting, a new parting. It feels different from the familiar kinds of parting. In both cases there is a similar wish to take with me those and that which I’m parting from, the impossibility of a fulfillment, the possibility of a fulfillment as though in the heart. The dissimilarity of parting, however, is great. It is as if I had to part from myself, a notion that – though close to the sense of impending death – is nevertheless imbued with tremendous vitality. Once I am gone for a few days (I’m blocking every form of assuagement: it’s just a few days, there are many technical opportunities to hear and even see each other, I will be very busy where I’m going . . .), being away will be my practice. I am leaving my master and taking my own first steps. I’m enjoying the ubiquitous mirroring of my experience, it elevates me to a state of sadness. (I cast a final glance at our baby: He’s asleep on his back in the hands-up!-position.)
BabyBuddha 