Said it before, I'll say it again: your baby is wild smart. Matter of fact your baby is a genius. They used to say "nobody love a genius chile," but now they say "everybody love a genius chile" because love is genius and genius is love and genius begets genius and love begets love.
The baby knows that existence is a paradox, both coincidental and inevitable, that everything is mostly nothing and the difference between everything and nothing is functionally negligible. The baby knows that the difference between everybody and nobody is nobody. The baby knows that nobody is nobody. The baby also knows that nobody is everybody and that if nobody is everybody then everybody must be nobody, too. The baby knows that everybody is everybody and by way of, or as an extension to that, the baby knows that everything is everything. Everything is everything is the grand unified equation. E = E. That's the formula. The baby is working off these figures.
The baby, like many a great philosopher, is highly dubious of object permanence, or even objectivity for that matter. The baby is born of love consciousness, and is therefore love consciousness actualized and realized. We all are. Sometimes, or even often times, we simply don't realize it. We all are the baby and the baby is us. Nobody knows this more deeply than the baby. The baby knows love deeply because it is close to its own temporal root; any human transgression is a forgetting of the love at our root. It's hard for a baby to forget the love at its root because that love was some mere months ago, hella recent, so that's where the myth of childlike innocence finds its a priori, solidifying it as one of the more bulletproof myths of human thought.
The baby is your beacon, your book of changes, your never-ending dice game in the hall of mirrors that winds through your heart, soul, and mind.
The baby's power is mythical, mystifying, smoky, at times opaque, post-rhetorical, hyper-semiotic. The baby's genius is natural, intuitive, automatic. The baby's apparati are oblique but urgent, primal. The metaphysics of the baby are quantum, highly spiritual. The baby's geometry is sacred. The baby's poetics are light speed, unapologetically and unforgivingly beautiful, terrifyingly and reassuringly perfect. You can, may, and should put all trust in the baby.
The baby is your beacon, your book of changes, your never-ending dice game in the hall of mirrors that winds through your heart, soul, and mind. The metaphysics of the baby are labyrinthical, unfurl fractal-like, swirling flowers of human consciousness. The baby is you and you are the baby. See the world again, as if for the first time, with brand new eyes, blood of your blood, flesh of your flesh, an extension of your consciousness that will inform and expand your consciousness, teach you about you, teach you about the world. Be thankful for the gift of the baby. Do whatever the baby says. Do anything for the baby. Let the baby lead the way.
Also remember that you are the baby flesh of your familial flesh, branching from the great ancestral tree trunk. You are the baby and the baby is you, a sprig off that branch, branch off that trunk, a trunk out them roots, a big ancestral tree, a Pando forest of interlocking root systems.
The baby is the guru emanating love's light through you. The baby echoes your love back to you. Tickle the baby and the baby will laugh and then you will laugh and then the baby will laugh some more and then you will laugh some more and so on in an unending Möbius strip of laughter. The baby is a prism of joyous light. We are the rainbow. The baby has given birth to us. Trust, believe, and know these truths to be self evident, baby. You, baby! You are the baby and the baby is now. Now is yes. The truth, affirmative. Yeah, baby, yeah. Now baby, go baby, yeah! YEAH, BABY!
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