Dust Nugget v3

At the beginning we're a nugget of dust. And so at the end.

As seed becomes tree becomes seed, and as bird lays an egg to crack around bird, so the nugget scatters dust as every wave of light, to dance every dance, as it sings every song, until all rays entwine, in all ways become one, again in the tightest of whirls, and the eye sees itself as the light it comprises.

In between we find all of us in the midst of the dance. Trees wave in the sun. As bees sing, flowers open. A bear rolls with its cubs, as the snow melts into streams flowing to the rivers into seas that cloud up the skies to send rain to the fields for the trees and the flowers, the bees, berries, and bears.

And I sing some verses, make some steps of the dance, as do you and each being, each a dust cloud spinning and each the dust nugget spun out of the love that conducts us to blow apart and undone till all dances are danced and the songs are all sung.

The notes hardly matter —waves crash on rocks— and the words lesser still —clouds need no bones— and the steps are our choices —paths wind as feet fall— creating order in our wake. No two are the same, though some can be fake.

And our songs are all one song, and our dances one dance. No one stands alone though we imagine we can.

And imagine we can any way, where, and when from the biggest of bangs to the tiniest tweet from the seat of your being where a caged bird sitting, sings ourself to sleep to dream of being free as it always will be.

As a ray of light dances any which way, it leaves behind a shadow wherever it's been. So a hard ray leaves softness and a warm ray leaves cold. As our anger yields a calmness and sorrow allows for joy.

From one nugget always, being all ways divides into a twinverse reflection a yin for each yang. High comes from low, near from far out from inside.

We put hands to a clock work to tick out the beat of our mother earth twirling, child moon in tow glowing 'round our father sun beaming gratitude, gratitude, gratitude each and all playing like flies in the streets swirling in tandem in the sweet cosmic breeze: on the updrafts of sidewalks, on the downfalls of traffic, in our souls and our feats.

Some steps feel awful so that others feel wondrous Stub a toe on the coffee table. Corner kick the winning goal.

And some steps are heinous we can hit or can hug pleasure makes room for pain as good carves out evil and fear shadows love.

When fear holds us tightly we forget who we are, flailing into isolation that we construe as separation. Alone in illusion, we strive for empowerment. Imprisoned by denial, we grasp for control.

We may sing and dance harm upon what seem like others. But the pain we give rise to comes back with a vengeance.

Those who seem evil are driven by fear of not being enough and not being at all.

And since each of us began and will end as a facet on this dust nugget gem that is us and has us, we can feel what it's like to be any other dusty cluster alone in its bubble of fearsome madness.

These lonesome bubbles layer on and ossify. Egoskeletons in the closet where we blindly become the monsters we fear. Until one brave day we tire of trembling and crack the creaky door of perception to peer into the Mind at Large with the eye beyond spacetime.

The methods are manifold. We can pop the bubble all at once or pick the lock breath by breath. We can stay inert and wait until to dust we return. We can one-inch punch through the coffin lid and terrified claw back to rarefied air screaming into the holy night where shadows go to die.

The fortunate daughters and sons find themselves fully grown still swimming in the dusty unknown with no crimes to atone for though the story of separation can be a challenge to ignore each choice remains yours to maintain this All One God Faith or wear the spectral mask of your own personal wraith.

As creativity accelerates and the pace of novelty soars then the scatter hits the brakes. Bubbles fling open suicide doors. And the dust angels and devils dance on the tarmac and dance in the hills and dance in the food desert and sing from the rooftops and sing in the trees and play with the bears and feed apples to bees.

We sing our fears out our anahata holes to regrow the merry muscles that have atrophied slowly as we thought up technology and treaded tired tropes to distract from the void the dust nugget calls home.

We gather the bony shells the cracked shards of egos. Light a blaze for the ageless— a [[galaxy class tire fire]]. Dancing in dust and as dust with the full grace and gusto all the love we can muster till the clocks go nowhere and work is ever over.

Wildflowers bloom back into valleys, over hills where our hurry had laid waste to the colors of the fields of yesteryear. Special invaders from a world away borne on leviathan tankers sped by fossil fracking fuels.