We come by small orbits to the center. It is a quiet place, don’t you know? It is full of small yellow flowers and grains of sand, tan and brow and black upon the palm of the hand. If you listen closely, you just might hear the tinkle of a baby’s laugh. But maybe not. Who can say?

Silly? Perhaps you’re right. It is so easy to be silly, especially on orbits of parabolic nature. Around and around, moving deliciously closer then falling farther away. One day here. One day there, Why, the very thought makes the head spin. But that’s the gist of it, isn’t it? The spinning head or more precisely, mind. And we must not forget to be precise. Otherwise who knows what sort of misunderstandings might arise. No, no, we mustn’t be less than utterly, absolutely precise like goslings following the goose through the water, each the prescribed interval behind the other, following precisely as it should.

So we orbit the center and if we are lucky the orbits stay small and the center holds steady and calm and eternal, like the sea is eternal, ever changing but ever the same. Perhaps the saint or enlightened master can hold to the center or maintain an orbit, near thereto. But, for me it’s parabolas all the way.

At apogee - delightful sounding word, apogee, don’t you agree? Ah, but it is far from delight to live there. At apogee, the far point, the nadir, darkness hides near at hand, whispering gloom and sadness. At apogee life is heavy and gray as an Irish winter’s rain. Dark nights grow here, ready to kidnap us into doubt and despair. Yes, despair teams with darkness at apogee to bestow a mantle of brooding sorrow.

But cycles cycle and seasons change and our orbits take us back toward the sunny center. We properly progress to perigee,  the closest point and we remember Center. Source fills our days with miracles, little and large. Life blooms and the orbits repeat, hopefully moving a bit toward center in Love’s entropy.

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