Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


I come home. Our baby is glad (he’s standing by the table in the living room, tearing a newspaper and occasionally tasting a piece in his mouth). But not glad because I came back after the few days I was gone. He’s glad because I’m here now. The difference is so huge that it is hard for me to recognize it (maybe it’s hard for me too because I would like to think he awaited my return with longing, counting the days, not with his fingers but with his heartbeats). Whoever is here is here, and whoever is not here is not here! It’s that simple, but only a baby can live and experience it without effort. Our mutual encounters join seamlessly: this produces elation in me. A poem starts forming: Unsutured time harbors bliss, it says. Just then, from the background, distinct and friendly, your voice comes into play, saying: Wouldn’t you like to welcome me too?  




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