… another time to say good-bye …

Saying good-bye as permanent state of living?
Moving to one place, just to Say Good-bye again?
… and again it is time to leave …, or to move on … because …, well, it is simple, ‘it is me‘.

And for the others?

You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex’d;
Bear with my weakness; my, brain is troubled:
Be not disturb’d with my infirmity:
If you be pleased, retire into my cell
And there repose: a turn or two I’ll walk,
To still my beating mind.

(From: Shakespeare, 1611/12: The Tempest; Act 4. Scene 1. Before Prospero’s cell)

… the way to go …. – from where, to where, with whom?


.., along the river, though against its stream ….  va, pensiero, sull’ali dorate …

[I will soon publish a link from here to some replique, looking back on two years, trying to draw some conclusions for the two-hundred years to come …]

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