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When the child was a child
It walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the
brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be
the sea. When the child was a child,
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one. When the child was a
child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat
cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made
no faces when photographed. When the child was a child,
It was the time for
these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why
not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under
the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an
illusion of a world before the world?
Given the facts of evil and people.
does evil really exist?
How can it be that I, who I am,
didn’t exist
before I came to be,
and that, someday, I, who I am,
will no longer be
who I am? When the child was a child,
It choked on spinach, on peas, on rice
pudding,
and on steamed cauliflower,
and eats all of those now, and not
just because it has to. When the child was a child,
it awoke once in a
strange bed,
and now does so again and again.
Many people, then, seemed
beautiful,
and now only a few do, by sheer luck. It had visualized a clear
image of Paradise,
and now can at most guess,
could not conceive of
nothingness,
and shudders today at the thought. When the child was a child,
It played with enthusiasm,
and, now, has just as much excitement as
then,
but only when it concerns its work. When the child was a child,
It
was enough for it to eat an apple, … bread,
And so it is even now. When the
child was a child,
Berries filled its hand as only berries do,
and do
even now,
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw,
and do even now,
it
had, on every mountaintop,
the longing for a higher mountain yet,
and in
every city,
the longing for an even greater city,
and that is still so,
It reached for cherries in topmost branches of trees
with an elation it
still has today,
has a shyness in front of strangers,
and has that even
now.
It awaited the first snow,
And waits that way even now. When the
child was a child,
It threw a stick like a lance against a tree,
And it
quivers there still today.