The circle is a beautiful shape – a moving continuation of eternity. When I think of the circle, I am reminded of Life itself. I think of all the ways we repeat endlessly our mistakes, our follies, and our beauty. When I think of myself, I think of myself as a circle. There is no end. There was never any beginning. When I think of the best relationships, I think of them as a circle, looping together, conjoined in a constellation of form, rhythm, and shape.
When I think of the circles this year, I think of time, of memories, words surrounding themselves, moving together only to separate, again and again. I think of Time too – that illusion. I think of Life again – another illusion. I think of Death – the greatest illusion. I want to open my arms and envelop the world in a circle of love, warmth, and kindness. I want to hug myself first – this frail, trembling, irritating mouse that I am most vexed with. I want the circle to be complete. And I realize that is what circles are – they are always complete. That is their beauty. That is their loss.