Part I: Initiation
I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give myself to it.
I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I’ve been circling for thousands of years
and I still don’t know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?
by Rainer Maria Rilke
Full Moon Tea for January 13th:
Calendula (Calendula officinalis)
Passionflower (Passiflora incarnata)
Chamomile (Matricaria chamomilla)
On this morning’s winter walk I suddenly came upon a circle of brown leaves — all from various trees — dancing in the air. They bounced along the ground, their dry husks scraping at the pavement as they were spun up by the wind. It looked like a whirling dancer whose skirt hem had been embroidered with fallen leaves, or like a child wildly turning in circles and then collapsing to the ground. It took my breath for an instant — this ephemeral whirlwind burst, this leafy circle rotated by an invisible hand.
Circles — windborn or otherwise — have been much on my mind recently. I’ve been pondering their shape and significance, their cyclicality and symbolism. I’ve been thinking of how to embrace more circularity in my life, and how to untether myself — even if it’s only slightly — from the powerfully linear mindset that dominates our culture. We have forgotten the potency of the spinning circle in favor of the piercing drive of the straight line.
The line permeates our sense of time, our economic structures, our hierarchical notion of power, and even our own sense of self. It is expected that such things should increase and go forever upwards, like an arrow shot to the sun.
But many of us sense that there is something deeply flawed with this uni-directional perspective. It is impossible and recklessly delusional to always be angled upwards. Of course, there are times when we need the direct, unwavering steadfastness of the line, but not to the detriment of curved, roundabout motions. We need to be able to loop and turn, rotate and spin, disappear and return, and to veer into unknown cycles.
If we derive our sense of worth from the ability to speed along in ever-straighter lines of improvement and ascent — as the dominate culture instructs us to — we run the great risk of living an unexamined, rigid, soulless life. We become sick at heart, disoriented and dulled. It is unnatural and exhausting to be held captive by this linear mindset at all times, obsessed as it is with upgrades and advancements.
To find ways to move in circles — and to feel ourselves encircled by rhythms larger than ourselves — is entirely possible, even if it’s not encouraged or understood. To live with the energy of the circle we must stop favoring upward, forward movement to the exclusion of all other directions. We must give some space for life to work upon us in other ways. Then we can revolve through life’s circumstances, working in orbital pathways. We can go backwards, or stand still, or rotate forwards; we can circuitously change pace and perspective.
We most likely will not receive outward validation or praise for this way of being — we may instead cause puzzlement or consternation. We will probably be misunderstood. But at least we will not feel the endless lack that line-living leaves us with — a line hungry to find its own unattainable end.