 |
|
all we are is dust in the wind… By Laszlo Bartha, CC BY 2.0.
|
Sometimes we find wisdom in dust. As metaphor, it hints at how we might best live. Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind. Dust returns to the earth as it was. Ahhh … make the most of what we yet may spend, before we too into the dust descend; dust into dust, and under dust, to lie sans wine, sans song, sans singer, and … sans End! (1)
But this time of year it can be hard to appreciate the philosophical side of dust. The wind blows and blows and blows, the snow melts exposing bare soil, and dust takes to the air—landing on windshields, in eyes, up the nose, and throughout the house. So I felt fortunate to stumble upon a short tale that turns this annoyance into something a bit magical.
From Where does the dust come from? by Ermilo Abreu Gómez (2):
The dust that sticks on the windows, on the statues, on the books and on the canvas of paintings, doesn’t come from the earth. It comes from the wind. It is the wind itself, dying of exhaustion and thirst in the nooks and crannies of our possessions.
 |
|
Lifeless remains of the wind (house dust up close, from PRI).
|
Notes
(1) From Kerry Livgren and Kansas, Dust in the Wind; the Hebrew Bible, Ecclesiastes 12; and Edward FitzGerald, The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (XXIII).
(2) My translation from Spanish, here's the original (suggestions welcome):
El polvo que se pega en las ventanas, en las imágenes, en los libros y en la tela de los retratos, no viene de la tierra. Viene del viento. Es el viento mismo que muere de cansancio y de sed en el rincón de las cosas íntimas. ¿De dónde viene el polvo? – Ermilo Abreu Gómez
Read the full story here (it’s short).
