There’s a place not too far from me along a river, and everywhere along the banks of the river are wheels and circles. They’re placed as closely as possible to the river and in such a way that you can see the water through the spokes. There are woven circles of willow branches and wheels from the helms of old ships. Everywhere there are wheels and circles . . .
|Watching the wheel.|
Then there’s a bigger circle beyond the circles placed by my anonymous hero, and that would be the river itself. It rolls and rolls along, and yet it stays in the same place. The water is always the same, like the very center of a wheel, but the current continues to roll along. And who’s to say how long it takes for a single molecule of water to make it back to the same river once again? A million years, perhaps? It doesn’t matter, though, because the center will still be the same.
And then there’s the circle beyond even the river, the one that limits almost all humans, and that would be the Earth. As that water rushes around and around, the Earth herself does the very same thing. She spins and spins. And beyond her, there are larger round objects, and everything continues to spiral--first outward, but someday back inward again. We could probably accurately guess that the Universe itself is round, spinning and spinning.
The substance in which it spins, we cannot know, but we know it is there. Otherwise, everything would come to a shrieking standstill. What good is a wheel that can’t spin? Since the spinning wheel still exists in the microcosm, we can assume that it still exists in the macrocosm. As above, so below. See it “here” and know it’s “there.”