It was sewn from dust.  And to this dust it will return.  This tent of mine which hides glorious riches.  Men have held gold to their breast and thought themselves rich.  But what is truly rich evades their fingers.  Like the monkey who clasped his hand around the morsel in the jar, they will never grasp what’s true.  They hold dear the things of perception.  But they can never perceive what is dear.