the mystery of the child

Never did get round to reading Marty's book, but there was something intriguing and appealing about the notion-probably because you're so childish yourself. And it's this: what is meant by the simple words, 'take care'? Take care of yourself, we often say. Well, who but a sage does that or can do that? But, perhaps there's something else, at once more ordinary, prosaic, and yet mysterious all the same...and it's this: to look out for someone else (not just look after-which can lead to all sorts of stifling dependencies- but to look out).

To say it's just an obligation, a duty, a norm, makes it sound as if it's something imposed from without; to think of it in terms of rewards is to debase it. Can pleasure ever, on its own, be a reason? (Which is not to deny pleasure or happiness can accompany such acts, ways of being). You want something, but it's the state of the world you want, not the satisfaction of a desire or the inward pleasure that you derive from it coming about that matters. Look out.

What is it though, what is the mystery? God knows!

Vulnerability. Yes, that goes without saying. Today, little r opened a book (Carol Shields) at random and pointed to the first words: 'Goodness is not an abstract concept'. But here's the amazing thing: each child sees the world for the first time and thereby adds something to the history of the loving gaze. That's something. The word "hippo" is still funny even though "hippopotamus" is too frivolous a word in English to be in any way helpful.

Natality, wonder, openness. Each child has a name, names the world anew; names last, names least, often mistakenly. Must we mean what we say? When face to face with wonder the only response is to become childlike oneself. Not a reversal of time, for there is no such thing, but moving through it, as one does in a dream, back to a place that was always there, even though you'd somehow forgotten it...

In der Stunde X werde ich dennoch denken, dass die Erde schon war...

einem Weihnachtsgeschenk von Anita.