"By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return."
As I look out my bedroom's window, that dirty, scratched portcullis, I'm reminded how pitiful we are. We are born here as we are reluctantly dragged, kicking and screaming, into our miserable existence. We grow up quickly, eating congealed sunlight and drinking our waste until we "come of age" and are ushered into an even less dignified life, digging in the dirt. We grind our teeth on the ever-present grit. We scratch at the dusty rock until our fingers bleed. We each scream silently into the abhorrent vacuum of space as our spirit is snapped. We slowly succumb to our deteriorating mind and strength until we finally die, forgotten in the wasteland of time and space.
How can one dare to have hope in such a desperate place? We live in a bubble of glass and steel, ceramic and plastic. We cannot escape.
The dust will take us all.
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