Spin Me Round and Around



Imagine a tiny point at the center of a canvas. From this point, taking some drawing instrument, start forming concentric circles one slightly bigger than another. Each circle comes with its unique properties but is always encircling the center. Each circle, as it grows larger, encompasses more of the available space but, in essence, seems to get further and further away from the center. The larger the circle and further the distance from the center, the less is its identification with or awareness of the core. And the more the identification with its own identity and all that it influences and is impacted by on the canvas. The more grandiose then are its ideas of self importance and knowledge and more forgetful it is of its origin and essence.

Each concentric circle is perhaps vaguely aware of a pull from within that keeps it grounded, so to speak, but the further it expands the more it is attracted to the energy of the outside. There is a vast canvas for it to explore, if only it could become larger and larger until it can swallow the entire canvas within its circumference!

What then? There lies then the difference between ownership and identification. The circles need to consume; to be large and expansive and controlling and grasping at everything and anything that comes within its domain. There is no time for introspection, only time for possession and consumption until nothing on the canvas is not within it. The tiny center that it so identified with at inception is vaguely remembered, a discomfiting reminder of a simpler way of being - of simply Being - a tug on its conscience.

Perhaps, when the canvas is fully consumed, is when there is a deep implosion and the circle dissolves under its own weight and there is nothing left but the domain that always was and the center that keeps on moving within the domain, each time spawning yet another grandly delusional circle that grows, expands, consumes, implodes, dissolves and returns to the core and repeats the cycle in an eternal dance called Life played on the canvas called Universe but returning always to the center call Spirit.