A few years back, I was going through some old things of my childhood. There was a box of important knick-knacks coated - I mean coated - in dust. As I ran my fingers through it, I realized that my whole life up until that point was manifested in that dust clinging to my fingers. I relived all the pain and loss, the dust triggering a stream of flash backs. The stuff was so meager and small, maybe even gross, but it meant so much. I realized then that even when a problems seems horrific at the time, it will indeed eventually wilt into dust and I should never worry myself sick over trivialities. I have to have faith that life will move on. I also realized that one day I would become that dust entirely, and I was essentially holding myself in my fingers. It was a strange, surreal feeling.