Tag Archives: Saying goodbye


Don’t worry, I’m not checking out just yet, but how could any author resist fantasizing and writing about it?


Saying goodbye before it’s too late to say goodbye, like Harris Mitchell farewells Diana in The Darkest Side of Saturn.

Goodbye to all the reality of this world constructed inside my head, and to the reality inside reality constituting the approximation of myself. It’s been good knowing you.

Goodbye Jan, Chelsea, Louisa, JJ and Harris, my mother and dad, my sisters Sybil and Lynn, Ed Cobb, and all the people I’ve known from the beginning to the end of my life. Goodbye Como. Goodbye Mammy and Nancy Jane.

Goodbye, sights and sounds of the world. Goodbye to the exotic, unrecognized smell of Gardenias as I walked home, a child, from school. Goodbye to the first glint of morning Sun over red Sedona cliffs, to thunder rolling majestically through a dark tumultuous sky. Goodbye storms, rain, snow. Goodbye and goodnight my soft, mysterious stars. Goodnight Orion and Pleiades. Goodnight Teapot steaming into the galactic center in Sagittarius. Goodnight Moon and Mars.

Perhaps we’ll meet again beyond these blinks of the Universe that constitute ourselves. Somewhere, sometime, a consciousness winks out, and elsewhere, elsewhen, a new one begins to form itself and the world around it. Is that the way it works?

Farewell curiosity. I was never satisfied, never had the wherewithal to discover all I wanted to know. Somewhere, sometime a reset button is pushed, and I begin all over again. Is that how it works? Farewell struggle and despair, so long happiness and sweet caress.

Goodbye Mary Frye and to your “diamond’s glint on snow” and “thousand winds that blow”. I love your “soft uplifting rush/Of quiet birds in circle flight”, and your “soft stars that shine at night”.

Farewell, adios, so long …

Goodbye, and strive for perspective, the broadest deepest perspective you can achieve, because you are a mote of the Universe, and the Universe needs to see itself as clearly and broadly as it can. It needs to know itself through you.


See the last entry in Quotations to read Mary Frye’s poignant masterpiece.