I Am But A Speck of Dust
Her joy and love are as much as anyone else has got. But no one seems to care.
“I am but a speck of dust in this vast universe. But I am a star among stars such as you. In this infinite world we are only small from the vantage point of our minute perspective. We are the universe and the universe is us. “ — M.Mondesir
She is a speck of dust, flying across the cities and mountains.
She finds no nest for herself. No light and flame to illuminate her corner.
She drifts with the wind, perches everywhere, dances at the beat of the weather.
She comes across the peaks and valleys, the swamp and bushes. She keeps flying and running. She can’t stop. At this moment, she is blowing through a forest. The next, she is flying over a river.
She since dreamed of a life like her best friend Time has got. Everything is so predictable. One second after another.
She since came across a splendid castle. She wanted to stay there forever, build her own life.
But the world is filled with excitement. A little vibrance, even a leaf falling to the ground, would give her an earthquake. She feels scared, perplexed, and lost.
The mountains she’s overcome are enormous, and the flowers ahead of her are beautiful. But she is engulfed by the cloud of dust. She can’t find an embrace to dwell upon.
“Hi, we are just a speck of dust,” says another dust next to her. “Smallness is our sin.”
“We are destined to spend life roving around the world, carried by the wind.”
“Only we know we exist. For many others, we only mean disappearing, the end of everything.”
But she loves the world so much. She loves to sing and dance along the first rays in the morning. She loves to land on the tip of a petal or an early dew to inhale the fragrance. She loves to stop at a face covered by happiness or sorrow. She only needs a tiny space to lay her passion, though it’s as hot as those of other giant stuff.
Sometimes she is tired. While running across the mountains and forest, she is tired of the silence, the endless drifting. “God,” she asks, “You have made a beautiful world. There are so many huge lives around me. Why do you make the little things like me?”
Birds fly in the sky. The wind blows across the mountain. The river is headed to the ocean, the forest is showered by the sunshine. What does a speck of dust have? The endless flying? The blanketed body? The herded soul? Where she is headed is decided by the wind.
No wonder they say, a soul is as poor as dust.
She is but a speck of dust. She comes and goes with nothingness. She is but a speck of dust, engulfed by lightness and perplexity. The world is busy and noisy, but hers is quiet and lonely. Her joy and love are as much as anyone else has got. But no one seems to care.
So she makes her own universe, lives her own life. She loves the wind, which carries her high and low. She loves time, which makes her dusted books. She loves the rainbow, which gives her all the color.
She is but a speck of dust. Some say she is the end of everything. Some say she is everywhere, has no fear.
She is but a speck of dust.
She is free.
