Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


This morning you drive off without us (the baby, me) to the rich city (here as there the same wet cold winter day that hardly tempts one to go outside). The distance from our city to the rich city is large enough to practice being together without being together in the same place. An exercise that seems as simple as it is basic. Basically we are just practicing what is the case anyway. The illusion of being separated, which so powerfully dominates our consciousness (and is perhaps nothing other than consciousness itself), becomes almost ludicrous in the presence of our baby. In point of fact, at noon, as I prepare a meal for the two of us, he sends his face to you. A smile adorns its flight. And a sound that is addressed to you. This sending of a face is definitely a spiritual affair, but primarily it is physical. To the unbelief that holds that presence in spirit has nothing to do with real presence, we therefore casually oppose ourselves with the additional assertion that the limits of the physical are tiny and insignificant compared to those of the spirit. Of course this is again merely due to our nearly year-long euphoria, which just goes on and on. (In the evening you return from the rich city. Our baby is still awake. He finds that you were not gone.) 

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