I hate dust. I hate dusting more. Dust makes me sneeze, it's disgusting to look at, and if not dealt with for too long, dust can ruin things. No matter how many times we try to get rid of dust, it only takes a few moments for it to settle right back where it came from.

When I can't take one more minute of the pale grey powder, I turn into a dusting maniac. For hours I wipe off the delicate dirt from my furniture, floors, nick-knacks, and my favorite room, the kitchen, where dust and cooking grease have formed a paste that rivals Superglue. Then it's into the bathroom, where another wonderful combination of dust and shower steam have created a kind of dust goo.

I tell myself, "All this hard work will pay off." I mean, to walk around in a dust-free home is a truly sublime joy. When I am done, the dusting materials get put away, I grab some water and sit down to savor my victory. As I look outside my patio window which frames Pikes Peak, suddenly my thoughts move in a new direction. Looking at Pikes Peak, I remember that we live at the base of a 14,110 foot mountain. It's then I realize that it's not dust's fault.

I understand that life throws at us chores or life lessons we must repeat over and over, but there's still something quite unique about dust. It's like trying to sweep the sand off a beach, or pick every fallen leaf off your yard come fall. It just can't be done. So one has to wonder, are we supposed to live in a symbiotic relationship with dust? Perhaps we really are the proverbial "dust in the wind" that we ourselves try to sweep away every day.

Dust if you must or don't, but remember that these could be the particles of the ancients, lost civilizations that now travel in microscopic forms looking to settle onto our televisions, toasters and toothbrushes. At least while we're dusting now, this might give us something interesting to think about.

Peace.