As far as anyone can see, there is suffering still and most of the good here lay unfinished. Our own knots at least are forgotten in the straining to release another from theirs, and so it goes on, the great untangling of our times. To recover beneath the coil an undisfigured society. The kind that itself heals from a trauma but with understanding, however whence it came. Hallowed be the few who toward disasters go. Exemplary citizens, of habitual constancy and who toil for none but a shared advantage as would only see its fellows rise to triumph over adversities of the soul. Rather than rejoice and march on to a spire still more glorious, will hang behind to render aid to the weary, the wicked and the lost. After all, we are all far away from something or someplace we shall all arrive at anyway at one point or another, and as ever we are all in passing and getting by as best we know. So we might as well make the most of it and where possible, give. While we are all here together above the dirt in high spirits.