Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


Our baby’s hand is looking more and more impressive to us. It’s becoming more beautiful by the day, just as its capacities are growing day by day. This hand does not rush things, not even when quickly grasping for something. Its grasping is always simultaneously a sensing, feeling, and studying of what is inside it, what it is holding. Oh, to be grasped just once by this small, soft hand, like that walnut (which it has surely been holding for the past hour)! Our wish to be in the baby’s world is great (mine is probably greater than yours; there are reasons for that). To be in the world from out of this hand and to reach into the world (sensing it, feeling it, studying it) through this hand. We float along in this reverie. (Our baby has put the walnut on the chair, and as he climbs into our lap with our support, we reach for the nut: it is saturated with warmth; its hard shell feels soft; it is warm like an egg still warm from the hen, an egg brooded in the baby’s hand, the same baby’s hand that now lies on our shoulder, curling around it, encompassing us from out of that little hand, until we feel warm, and warmer and warmer: now the baby is brooding on us, we think with conviction, that can take a while).






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