Dancing Dust
The sight of dust suspended in sunlight has always captivated me. As a child, I spent what felt like hours lying on the floor, staring into the mysterious soup of particles and air. My gaze would follow the unpredictable journey of a single, gravity-defying flake or fiber until it landed or vanished from sight. Sometimes, I would stir the soup with my hand or a forceful exhale, watching chaos ensue—like shaking a snow globe. I remember feeling unsettled when I learned that the dreamy debris above me contained fragments of hair and skin. Suddenly, I realized that with each inhale, I was consuming human remains. Some of the magic was lost that day, but it didn’t keep me from seeking out those ever-shifting shafts of light in my home or standing still amid the dancing dust.
Now, those moments are fleeting but still profound. I love how golden beams appear spontaneously, like portals to another realm, revealing what is always there but usually hidden. Sometimes they sneak up on me—like on Sunday mornings when I sleep in late. I find them in forests and office spaces. I welcome them, wherever I am. Floating dust is an anchor in time, a reminder to pause and savor the present. Now and then, I get lost in nostalgia, thinking of the hours I spent lying on the floor, free from the nagging thoughts of productivity. We need time to do nothing—to marvel at our existence, to rest, to be bored.
The pairing of sunshine and dust motes is one of life’s modest marvels. I find stillness and wonder in many small things: a puddle rippled by raindrops, a plastic bag caught in the breeze, the feel of grass beneath my bare feet. The accumulation of these simple moments enriches life; a sense of wonder is essential to happiness. It is a flame within us—one that requires both fuel and protection. We must not let bitterness blow it out.
