Ever Widening Rings

I want to write about circles–those perfect shapes.

When Giotto Di Bondone meant to prove himself an artist to the pope, he drew one perfect circle and smiled.

In Hindu and Buddhist culture, the mandala is a holy and grand concentric diagram representing essence, completion, and some say, the Self.

The compass’s circular shape, the wheel.

Years ago, before my husband was my husband (or anything close) we sat eating lunch. He pointed to a woman, robustly pregnant.

Even aliens appear to enjoy circles.

“Pregnant women are so sexy,” he said.  “They’re made up of so many circles.”

I’d never thought of circles as sexy before–but somehow, it pleased me that he did.

And it’s true what they say, when I delivered little Rainer, when I play with him and anticipate years to come, it does feel a little like a circle       has been made and is being made.

But white Western me is at times a little uncomfortable with the circle. For example, the “circle of life,” is great and all when it comes to lions eating antelopes eating bugs, but when the discussion turns to my inevitable trod towards death, I get a little queasy.

Here, in this United States, we are generally more congenial with the line. The diagonal line, preferably, leading upwards and to the right. Yes, this is how we like our lines.

After looking at this Itilian Vanity Fair, I could not help but agree with my husband before he was my husband.

I don’t want to think about my body’s slow depreciation, my eventual decline.

“I want to go out with a bang!” we say.

And I agree. Bangs can be rather nice, somehow.

Rainer Maria Rilke writes in his Book of Hours:

I live my life in widening rings

which spread over earth and sky.

I may not ever complete the last one,

but that is what I will try.

I circle around God, the primordial tower,

and I circle ten thousand years long;

and I still don’t know if I’m a falcon, a storm,

or an unfinished song.

Songs do go around in circles–so does my speech, sometimes when I’m trying to say one thing, I circle it until I know it’s shape in my mouth, it’s shape on my tongue–I am rarely spontaneously articulate.

Talking is circles, nay writing in circles is never encouraged–neither is living in circles or walking in circles for that matter.

A study, hot off the presses and published in Science News, finds that when we solely rely on bodily cues, we will inevitably walk in circles. Try as hard as we may to walk that straight line, without external directional signs, our bodies seek that wide, perfect arc.

We are pulled into circles and if we don’t consciously over come them–we will walk them forever.

There is truth to the saying....

And yes, some circles can be beautiful, natural and true. Like the circle of my physical life (even though it hurts to ponder). The circle (ish) of our earth’s orbit or the cycling seasons.

But some circles can be malicious, like serious whirlpools and tornadoes. Like my need to move every few years, my need to hit that reset button. The books I write and then abandon, just when it’s time to submit to agents.

My external cues have been changing, lately, and directing me down new paths. I’m curious if I will trade one circle for another; for even if I changed completely, I could have only turned 360 degrees.