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We are dust and to dust return. in the end we're neither air, nor fire, nor water, just dirt, neither more nor less, just dirt, and maybe some yellow flowers.

-Pablo Neruda

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We Are Dust And To Dust Return.

Pablo Neruda

We are dust and to dust return. in the end we're neither air, nor fire, nor water, just dirt, neither more nor less, just dirt, and maybe some yellow flowers.

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    <p style="font-size: 1.2rem; font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 10px;">"we are dust and to dust return. in the end we&amp;#039;re neither air, nor fire, nor water, just dirt, neither more nor less, just dirt, and maybe some yellow flowers."</p>
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Flower Fire Air

More From Pablo Neruda

It's no fun to be yellow. maybe i'm not all yellow. i don't know. i think maybe i'm just partly yellow and partly the type that doesn't give much of a damn if they lose their gloves. one of my troubles is, i never care too much when i lose something - it used to drive mother crazy when i was a kid. some guys spend days looking for something they've lost. i never seem to have anything that if i lost it i'd care too much. maybe that's why i'm partly yellow. it's no excuse, though. it really isn't. what you should be is not yellow at all.

If i had been a different sort of person, maybe less impressionable, less intense, less fearful, less utterly dependent upon the perceptions of others - maybe then i would not have bought the cultural party line that thinness is the be-all and end-all of goals. maybe if my family had not been in utter chaos most of the time, maybe if my parents were a little better at dealing with their own lives maybe if i'd gotten help sooner, or if i'd gotten different help, maybe if i didn't so fiercely cherish my secret, or if i were not such a good liar, or were not quite so empty inside... maybe.

The way i see it, the difference between farmers and suburbanites is the difference in the way we feel about dirt. to them, the earth is something to be respected and preserved, but dirt gets no respect. a farmer likes dirt. suburbanites like to get rid of it. dirt is the working layer of earth, and dealing with dirt is as much a part of farm life as dealing with manure. neither is user-friendly but both are necessary.

If we can abstract pathogenicity and hygiene from our notion of dirt, we are left with the old definition of dirt as matter out of place. this is a very suggestive approach. it implies two conditions: a set of ordered relations and a contrevention of that order. dirt then, is never a unique, isolated event. where there is dirt there is a system. dirt is the by-product of a systematic ordering and classification of matter, in so far as ordering involves rejecting inappropriate elements.

Maybe it’s my own fault. maybe i led you to believe it was easy when it wasn’t. maybe i made you think my highlights started at the free throw line, and not in the gym. maybe i made you think that every shot i took was a game winner. that my game was built on flash, and not fire. maybe it’s my fault that you didn’t see that failure gave me strength; that my pain was my motivation. maybe i led you to believe that basketball was a god given gift, and not something i worked for every single day of my life. maybe i destroyed the game. or maybe you’re just making excuses.

We got to face some facts. that the masses are poor, that the masses belong to what you call the lower class, and when i talk about the masses, i'm talking about the white masses, i'm talking about the black masses, and the brown masses, and the yellow masses, too. we've got to face the fact that some people say you fight fire best with fire, but we say you put fire out best with water. we say you don't fight racism with racism. we're gonna fight racism with solidarity. we say you don't fight capitalism with no black capitalism; you fight capitalism with socialism.

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I have seen something like it happen in battle. a man was coming at me, i at him, to kill. then came a sudden great gust of wind that wrapped out cloaks over our swords and almost over our eyes, so that we could do nothing to one another but must fight the wind itself. and that ridiculous contention, so foreign to the business we were on, set us both laughing, face to face - friends for a moment - and then at once enemies again and forever.

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