Nollaig Chridheil agus Bliadhna Mhath Ur

["Sinclair" <labehotiere@wanadoo.fr>]

Our memories are our private treasures. A memory is what is left when
something happens and does not completely unhappen this year the path of
memory has been strewn by my many missteps and mistakes. I have been rash
and foolish. I have rushed too many fences, but a life of honourable
mistakes is far
better than a life of doing nothing.

We probably wouldn't worry about what people think of our words or us if we
knew how seldom they do think of either.

What good would it be if there were someone or something always busy to see
to the tranquil enjoyment of our pleasures and rushing ahead to brush all
dangers away from our paths without giving us even the trouble to think
about it, if that someone or something, which protects us from the smallest
thorns on our journey, is also the absolute master of our liberty and life?
There could be no happiness found in that.

Life and living are risk.  Thinking and dreaming are essential parts of
life. They are risk. Many of the facts of history are suppositions. The
facts of history should refer to reality, they are not certain; if they are
certain, they
certainly do not refer to reality. Expressing uncertainty for a fact is an
assessment at theory test. It is not certainty.  Expressing rage and
loathing for a dream or some else's reading of a given set of facts is
preposterous Attacking the messenger and not the message is like putting on
full armour and attacking a cake.

When on Christmas we unwrap our dreams and ambitions for a new year and a
brighter world we should unwrap the gift of happiness. This is a gift that
belongs to those who unwrap it

To each and every one of you involved with the rest of the human race in
this pale adventure of protoplasm
they are words, far beyond my ability to express, that have tumbled down
from the mountain of time in a traditional Gaelic blessing..


"May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand."

 Sinclair









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