The Thinking Poet - Dust To Dust

Dust To Dust

I like to have a little sawdust on me 
To remind me who I am,
Since I came from dust long ago,
Further back than my cells can remember,
Back before they could tell the difference 
Between their own kind 
And the other kind 
And the Other 
That they may or may not have perceived,
When trees were shelter and shade, 
Clothing and food, 
Warmth and seasoning, 
Weaponry and tools,
Long before they bowed before us 
As product to developer 
Or nuisance to improver-of-lands, 
Lands that were as perfect 
As one can imagine 
Before the vain attempt.
I mingle my own dust 
With the dust of trees 
In the hope that I might join our lives
And make something, 
A marriage of species
That bears a wooden child 
With a soul like mine.

1.Do you feel a sense of estrangement between yourself and the natural world? If so, what causes that? If not, how have you escaped it?
2.Do you feel connected or separate from your ancestors who lived off the land? 
3.If you create art or craft, how do you put your soul into the inanimate object of your art?

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