The First Circle Was Not A Circle At All…

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It was an uroburos, head bite-touching the origin of its tail 
for just an archetypal         
nano-split second until that quark of an archetype 
embedded itself within  
just as quickly to disappear to become...
a circle with no beginning and no end...
with mystery intact living within it.

Drawing a circle with a compass slowly is like... 
is like unfolding a watch's movements
gears stretching their stationary orbiting
to slow-slingshot outwards while still engaged
becoming time-telling fractalled facets
not infinite facets on a finite sphere
as they shift focus and redirect scale 
in a constantly continuous manner consistently
such as when drawing a perfect circle 
by hand without a compass
for to draw a perfect circle
one must be able to dancingly integrate
the circular branch nature 
of the relatedness of things
even if 
simply related by adjacency or infinity of non sequitur
so as not to distract the focus of the drawing
of a perfect circle
in one
continuous stroke
as a perfect circle
is composed of an infinite number
of mini-chord lengths
each just longer than a point 
while changing direction continuously.

That is the alleged difficulty of drawing a perfect circle 
by hand sans compass
being comfortable enough with planning to be able to be even more
comfortable with the forgetting for getting
within and about to orbit in a naturally moving not-knowing
conscious of the feeling
though again transcending 
the step-off-the-path-never-stepping-off-the-path
of the circular branch
simply having the circular branch integrated 
as dog-eared and well-worn experience

being comfortable enough with planning 
to be able to be even more comfortable with the forgetting 
for getting within and about to orbit 
in a naturally moving not-knowing
living right in the tip of the pencil
tough again transcending the steps of the circular branch
to dance continuously changing direction 
naturally always changing
direction naturally moving
The circle may have no beginning and no end 
once it is drawn 
or drafted
or delineated
or rendered.

While drawing it, though, 
whether with a compass or freehand
infinity naturally dwells 
in the feelingsense of the action
prefiguring the nano-split second uroburos archetype 
to quark in and then embed within the chthonic reaches of it
each and every time a circle is drawn.
Do it long enough 
and simply thinking about your compass will do it.

I can call the Self, Chthonic Numinosity.  
I can call it The Temple in (Wo)Man.
The Temple of (Wo)Man. Neverminding that pedant statement

The first circle was not a circle at all. 
It was an arced freehand line completing itself, 
a curved compass line touching its beginning 
to overlap with seamless segue
where no knowing was required, 
and the very act of lead passing over 
onto its own lead arced-line origins,
formed knowing as the head of the snake as it touch-bit its tail
becoming an archetypal figure
that disappeared just as fast within itself
as it moved inside the line as chthonic heartbeat
full and pure in the unconscious depths Shadow lands,
living as mystery within, a fitting resident for the darkness.

The first circle was not a circle at all
when the inner journey of The Hermit
opened his eyes to unfurl and sail on the mysteries
as he noticed his first steps
and fully engaged the big picture
by focusing so intensely on the detail that time dilated
to be so big and so there 
as to disappear and birth an archetype in the aftershock of the moment
of The Hermit
noticing his feet
meeting The Wheel.

And, another day the serpent within squirmed and twisted over.
The aftershocks of the inner movement twisted the circle,
twisted the circle into infinity,
and the lemniscate was formed.

And, you thought drawing with a compass 
was just going in circles. Ha!
It is why I like Grand Prix F1 over Indy.
I like to do more than turn left all day.
Oh, enjoy that factually fractally faceted circular branch.
And, draw a circle slowly a million times.  
At least take out your compass
and draw several circles slowly 
while fascinating your self with the curved arc
continuously changin direction and especially the place
where the lead touching the paper touches its beginning.

I guess that going to the office 
to draft my own plans for decades actually served a purpose.
I got a single blog out of it. I rather like that.
Hidden within that, though, is a blessing...
the blessing of drawing circles by hand 
and with a compass as a guide
for 3.1 decades. 
This thought was always in there.
This thought was always in there, 
and I was conscious of it every time.
It was in there both consciously and unconsciously 
rattling around in there rattling around 
as my temples flexed knowing something was there
and simply Hermit to Wheel experiencing it...
until today I hadn't written it down.
Strange how deadlines met are met 
yet still take idea-casualties.
Plus, when drawing a circle with a compass,
you don't punctuate the arc while doing so.
Breath does that for you. 
And, there's your rationale 
for me waiting to start punctuating this
until I made drew the circle.
When drawing a circle with a compass,
you don't punctuate the arc while doing so,
until you have, and then you do. It's called dimensioning.
Center location.
Radius dimension.
Angle of arc if not a full circle.
Try it. Be aware of your breath while scribing a circle with a compass. You might want to practice first, though, by patting your head while rubbing your tummy. Have a great one! Scribe ON!

The Circle was born when…

Circle was born for all time timelessly without beginning or end at that point in time hidden in the compass swinging the arc when the curved line touches and lead passes over its own Self lead origins…. at which point in time The Hermit, becoming aware of his steps and seeing his first steps and the familiar surroundings differently, meets The Wheel… at which point in time The Hermit meets The Wheel.

And Hermit to Wheel, 9 to 10, uroburically births an IDENTITY

9 Nines: XVIII Moon ~ IX Hermit

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That’s it for today.  Ciao for now.  Till next time.

Oh, Identity. The uroburos. Let identity be embedded, though don’t let it disappear. I really should come up with a relevant card for this uroburos and identity thingamabobbadoodle… OH!  Silly me.

who you were when you were born, Self, return, identity, bright success in context

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(c) 2013 Jordan Hoggard

All images (c) 2010 Jordan Hoggard

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