The windmill

Observe the windmill Akin to a clock charting the passage of time. The turning of the blades. Each blade, a day, a week, a month a season even. Each turn, a cycle of the seasons. Each cycle of seasons, a year. Each full revolution or turn a doubling. Two years.. Four .. Eight… Thirty-two.. Fifty. One hundred years and so on and so on until time spans into the centuries, eon’s even. Until each cycle may be seen to have its origin in celestial and astronomical terms such as procession of the equinoxes and the great year along with other even more distant events.

Time then becomes meaningless, as the numbers march on, unchanging, unmoving; and still the windmill rotors continue to cycle in an unending circle, a hypnotic effect, drawing one’s consciousness within its unceasing turn. No beginning, no end, infinity itself.

For each turn may be seen to be the beginning and the end of a universe, the dawn and dusk of a new creation itself. And how long may each creation last, is by the fate of the unknown force that may be referenced here as the wind, and how swiftly it blows. And who, one might wonder operates and dwells within the windmill?

The vast maker of all things. Never seen but felt, unknowable and yet knowable at the same time, a delightful paradox, a mystery to be solved. But consider the windmill once more. Have you understood yet what it represents then? Why its you!

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