Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:
During the lunch break I sit down on my bed, lean back, look at the door for a while (the escape and rescue plan is pasted onto it, but I can’t make out any details) and go to sleep. I am awakened by our baby, who is suddenly standing at the door and wants to entice me to go outside. I’m not surprised that he is on the island and that he found me in the cloister. Nor am I surprised to see how quickly he runs ahead of me, and that he doesn’t need to turn around to see if I am following him. Proudly he shows me an open boathouse leading off the tracks across the meadow and into the lake. Our baby leaps into a wooden car, I follow him resolutely. The car offers just enough room for me to stretch out inside it. I see everything: myself lying in the car, the baby sitting on my chest, releasing the lever on the brake, whereupon we glide, with a rumbling sound, into the lake. I see your face beneath the surface of the water, drawing us down in the depths, as it were. As I wake up for the second time, I instantly know where I am: on my bed, and the lunch break will be over in a moment. I look around the room, everything is as it was earlier. Only the flight and rescue plan is gone (it costs me no effort not to think about that).