The “dust of the earth” which the Bible tells us we were created from is increasingly such a meaningful image to me.  Yes, it is probably because I’m closer daily to that point where I will become what Hamlet famously described as, “the food of worms;” but in the meantime I increasingly appreciate and even revel in my existential status of being a “dust bunny” of sorts.  This earthiness that each of us share, a commonality superseded only by That which undergirds the whole of this “goodly frame,” is a playground for each of us, a playground which, however, does involve occasional bumps and bruises..  The following poem by Ross Gay, described prominently in his biography as “a gardener,” so beautifully describes one poet’s intimate connection with and respect for this Earth.

If you find yourself half naked
and barefoot in the frosty grass, hearing,
again, the earth’s great, sonorous moan that says
you are the air of the now and gone, that says
all you love will turn to dust,
and will meet you there, do not
raise your fist. Do not raise
your small voice against it. And do not
take cover. Instead, curl your toes
into the grass, watch the cloud
ascending from your lips. Walk
through the garden’s dormant splendor.
Say only, thank you.
Thank you. If you find yourself half naked
and barefoot in the frosty grass, hearing,
again, the earth’s great, sonorous moan that says
you are the air of the now and gone, that says
all you love will turn to dust,
and will meet you there, do not
raise your fist. Do not raise
your small voice against it. And do not
take cover. Instead, curl your toes
into the grass, watch the cloud
ascending from your lips. Walk
through the garden’s dormant splendor.
Say only, thank you.
Thank you.