Awake at night, thinking about dust. Dust to dust. The first part of the dust is incomprehensibly connected biologically over the centuries. It roars along through intricate connections making families and generations. It is very fancy dust.
The dust to which we all return is disconnected from the huge soulwork of generational life and biology acts fast to reduce it to real dust, sloughed off the huge swirls of life – my words are insufficient – but the end of life dust may, or not, retain an image briefly, then go on to become no much more than requiring burial or cremation.
So huge and so complex- human history and biographies and art and drama – can in one instant be trashed. For me, in my lowly estate of mind, it does not require the doctrines I have steeped myself in, to believe in persistence. Life is too big – dust is too tiny.
All this is crude for big-boy philosophy. Kept me awake, though.