Before the Lathe
“How can we,” asked Plato, “know of a perfect circle since one cannot exist in nature?” His student Aristotle cobbled up an explanation. Between lives, he suggested, we float about in space to contemplate the perfect forms; circles, squares, truth and beauty.
For me, after the platter’s done, before it all slows down again, I always take a moment to lean back in contemplation, gazing on its perfect form.
A circle that spins and also, sublimely, stays. Not floating out in Aristotle’s magic kingdom somewhere high above the earth, but standing instead rooted inside this world, this life, where some things are true.
“a circle that spins and also, sublimely, stays”
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