I used to like circles: There was a centre, a circumference, nothing sharp that would stick out and poke.
I was wrong. Circles hurt.
You move from the centre towards a point, you travel through a bend; it can get heady but you are curving along the route, seeing things from a different perspective…you don’t know what comes next; there is adventure, surprise, trepidation and the sheer joy of being unable to comprehend the next step.
It doesn’t last. The centre remains the same, the circumference too may not have changed. You end where you started. All you have discovered are too many bends.
I think I will go in for squares that take you long from one place to another and, even if there is a sharp turn, the journey is a straight line. You can move away to extend yourself to a rectangle. Or take a risk and reach a peak to make a triangle. At least there is clarity of height and depth; of ecstasy and agony.
Circles deceive with their moon-faced innocence. Circles look like they won’t cause pain. But have you been hit by a soccer ball?
And are circles really complete? No. Peel an orange. What you find inside are separate slices. Cut open an apple; you have to discard the seeds.
You throw away what creates.
When you come round full circle, it only means something dies.