“DUST IN THE WIND”

People my age might remember a band called “Kansas”, who came out with an album entitled “Point of Know Return” in 1977. I owned a copy, and just like every other suburban white kid my age, I can remember listening to it wearing those gigantic, padded headphones with the curly cord which we used back then, and thinking how cosmic and profound it all was. Upon further consideration, though, I found that there was actually no “there” there, so to speak. Their lyrics were more like meaningless or nearly-meaningless drivel written to complement electric organ and Moog synthesizer riffs and appeal to the bong-hitting 12 to 18 year-old demographic who found Loggins & Messina to be too folksy and Aerosmith to be too hardcore. 

“They say the sea turns so dark that

You know it's time, you see the sign

They say the point demons guard is

An ocean grave, for all the brave,

Was it you that said, "How long, how long,

How long to the point of know return?"

…Really? What?

So, today, as I was walking the dog and turned the corner onto a neighborhood street, I began to hear the strains of “Dust in the Wind” blasting from the window of a house down the road. Immediately that ironic, judgmental inner voice of mine, the one we all have (don't we?), began to chuckle and wonder, “Who is listening to that old schlock?”
Then I saw whose house it was.
It was the house of a neighbor who is currently battling cancer for the second time. A family who lost a son just a year or so ago to a drug overdose.

“Now don’t hang on
Nothin’ lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away
And all your money won’t another minute buy.
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind…”

And suddenly that little judgmental, ironic voice in my head shut right the hell up and felt kind of ashamed of itself.
All this just went to remind me that no matter how we see or hear this world, this day, this song on the radio, someone else sees it in an entirely different light. While we contemplate our weekend and worry about getting the car fixed, someone else is wondering whether they’ll live to see Christmas and is hoping, above all, that it won’t hurt. That 3½-minute, made-for-AM-radio hit you’ve always disregarded as musical tripe, someone else thinks of as a prayer.
"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle" - Ian Maclaren