The Wonders of Dust

I am thinking about dust, the kind you wipe away; however, there are several other kinds of dust we like: A dusting of cherry blossoms;  a sprinkling of confectioners sugar on the waffles or cake or the mocha balls; what about stardust – now that is a lovely image. We even have some stardust in our bodies, according to science. The American Museum of Natural History states: Every atom of oxygen in our lungs, of carbon in our muscles, of calcium in our bones, of iron in our blood – was created inside a star before Earth was born.

Dust

I do understand that dust seems like a crazy topic for a blog, yet this is the second time I am musing about dust. However, it is spring, and dust is gathering.  Outdoors, the cleaning crews with street sweepers and indoors, the cleaning crews (me)with sprays and cloths.

Today, I observed the incredible job my son-in-law did these past couple of days as he tackled the spring clean-up in his backyard. Dusting, sweeping, raking, washing, furniture moved outdoors and thoroughly refreshed for the warming trend that is underway. Praise worthy and now an irresistible invitation to take a coffee and wordle outside to one of several charming corners in the garden.

Furthermore, I became well acquainted with dust in the couple of weeks before my surgery. I got to dust every book, shelf, nook and cranny, preparing a pristine space to return to post-surgery. This was prompted by the painting of my living space from top to bottom, and you might think, like I originally did, that this was not the best timing. As it turned out,  it was perfect. Why? Because Velimir, an old world craftsman, was not just the most talented and thorough person in the world, he was the kindest – he kindly and thoughtfully did all the heavy lifting.

I then got to dust and restore everything in my freshly painted sanctuary, as I like to call it.  This is a very satisfying feeling. And, of course, it allowed me to throw out, recycle and donate…the Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning in action. You probably know that book, written by Margareta Magnusson when she was in her 80s.

Back in 2021 I wrote about dust, prompted by Emma Rooney, my Forest Bathing teacher.  An invitation from Emma was to take ten minutes and mindfully dust something in the room where you worked. Mindful dusting, actually considering what makes up the dust. I didn’t spend much time on that part because I had an amazing experience with the dusting itself. I chose a sideboard in my study that contains several items that I love to look at. As I glance over to it now, I see the love of friends gracing this space.

Gratitude

How does mindful dusting work? Using the example of my sideboard, I soon noticed that not one item did I buy myself: each item represented a gift, lovingly made and/or purchased, that was given to me by a dear friend or family member.

As I picked up each item to dust, I thought of my friend K who painted me a red boat against a beautiful sun on Feb 8, 2008, the day I had my mastectomy. A small collection of Buddha’s of different sizes, from different parts of the world each one carefully chosen by four different people. A longed for gong that was a Christmas gift, decades ago. A small gold box from Japan from my friend S and a lovely Japanese Calligraphy from P. A beautiful and lovingly made card from A  for my birthday. This “tree of life”  now has a permanent home, where I can see it everyday. And so on.

From a Chore to a Privilege

As I dusted each item and looked closely, remembering when I was given that particular gift, by this beloved friend or family member, it stimulated such a wave of love and gratitude that I look forward to the opportunities to transform from a dust buster to a mindful dust remover who gets the chance to appreciate each thing and each person as I do the dusting. (sorry for the run on sentence) From a chore to a privilege.

I understand this may sound over the top, but believe me, it is rewarding. Even though I am not consistent, I appreciate the times when I do mindful dusting. It wakes me up.

Awe and the Ordinary

By now, you know I am in awe of ordinary,  everyday life.  Because that’s where we spend most of our time. I have never liked dusting, and since I live with my windows wide open until the storm ones go on, and I am on the third floor of a beautiful old house, I complain that I can’t keep up with the dust. The books don’t help either.  So this is an example of what can happen when we shift our attention from the notion of chores to the reality of privilege: I am alive, and able to do what it takes to care for my surroundings. And even that I have surroundings to care for, thanks to so many people. How lucky is that!

Once in a while it is good to remember this. Thank you, Emma, for this special lesson in dusting mindfully four years ago.

Notes

1:) This is an update to my first blog post on dust back is 2021

 2:) We are stardust:  American Museum of Natural History

 3:) Photos are from Vancouver, thanks to Rob. The banner photo is a sidewalk in East Van, that Rob spotted, pulled over and took pictures. I am the beneficiary of all this falling cherry blossom beauty, and now sharing it with you. The other photo is from Japan, taken by me in 2014. I was taken by her devotion to sweeping pathways and pointing out what else needed doing.

4:) One more photo from Gabriola Island. Thanks Gottfried.

5:) May you all be safe, healthy, content and mostly at ease with your life. Take good care and always have strength, courage, and a reason to get up in the morning. Moments of everything. Kindest regards and with gratitude for your good company, Trudy

 Poem Dust by  Danusha Laméris

It covers everything, fine powder,
the earth’s gold breath falling softly
on the dark wood dresser, blue ceramic bowls,
picture frames on the wall. It wafts up
from canyons, carried on the wind,
on the wings of birds, in the rough fur of animals
as they rise from the ground. Sometimes it’s copper,
sometimes dark as ink. In great storms,
it even crosses the sea. Once,
when my grandmother was a girl,
a strong gale lifted red dust from Africa
and took it thousands of miles away
to the Caribbean where people swept it
from their doorsteps, kept it in small jars,
reminder of that other home.
Gandhi said, “The seeker after truth
should be humbler than the dust.”
Wherever we go, it follows.
I take a damp cloth, swipe the windowsills,
the lamp’s taut shade, run a finger
over the dining room table.
And still, it returns, settling in the gaps
between floorboards, gilding the edges
of unread books. What could be more loyal,
more lonely, and unsung?

From Bonfire Opera (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2020). Posted by kind permission of the poet.