Dissipation of dust

Moving Form is soon moving to the West Coast of the Great Southern Land. I regret to inform you that his belongings, for the most part, will not accompany him. It had always been their full intention to accompany him. They had always been so faithful. His sofa had born the brunt of his tired body at the end of a hard day’s work, and laid there night after night, awaiting his return. His mattress had been his support, chiropractic, mental and emotional; the surface upon which he would shut-eye when the hour was late. His bookshelves had held with stoic fortitude, the accumulation of stories, facts and words that nourished his soul. His clothing had clothed him. Day in, day out, sheltering his thin and vulnerable frame from the harsh summer sun or the cold winter sting and preserving his slither of dignity. All these things had been wrapped, taped, packed with zealous care, and been life’s preoccupation for weeks.

They are gone now, victim to a fire sparked by the removalist’s faulty truck exhaust. Did it have to point back into the container vent? And of their tales, none remains but one, this humble servant. This passing shadow, for just a twinkle of an eye longer.

So it leads me to ponder: What is material possession? And after all is said and done, what is this earthly life? I am certainly no less without those things. I miss nothing. I lack nothing. I too will return to ashes very soon and hope desperately that before then I will leave something to reverberate through the ages; silently, unassumingly, probably unbeknown to me and to you. Something small that was real or sincere. Perhaps that itself, will be all that I am as I cast this mortal coil to gaze upon my Maker.

This life is short. This earth a handful of dust. This galaxy no more. This universe possibly one of an infinite. This dimension possibly the lesser, more veiled form of many others. This reality but a possibility. And all that is here, that we know, is you and I. And you are I and I am you.

Dost thou reckon thyself only a puny form
When within thee the universe is folded?

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