I have come to habitually bid farewell to folks with Irish blessings. I am not especially Irish, but I have come to believe that the world is riven in twain by those who sap life of intrigue and wonder, and those who strive to imbue the world around the with more mystery and joy.
There is little enough awe and magnificence in how we se the world. Bon mots and beau gestes are not empty of sense, but small redeeming graces. The occasional bogglements of each other are practical Koans that inject magic into the weary mundanity we have created.
The greatest wonder of all is how we can fail to perceive the magic all around us. It takes many years of schooling to fail to stare in amazement at a dust devil or the way a Newton’s cradle acts to conserve momentum and energy in a totally invisible and dazzling manner.
May the Good ye do be celebrated,
And the Ill forgotten.