The Weight of Turning

We are told that time is a river, something that flows away from us. But standing in the dark, watching the stars trace their slow, cold arcs across the sky, it feels different. It feels like a wheel. A heavy, iron thing that turns whether we are ready or not. We try to hold onto the stillness, to anchor ourselves in the earth, but the earth itself is spinning. There is a specific ache in realizing that we are passengers on a journey we did not choose, moving through a night that has no end. We build our houses, we light our fires, and we pretend the ground is solid. Yet, the stars continue their long, circular climb, indifferent to our small, shivering lives. If everything is in motion, where is the place that stays? Where do we go when the wheel finally stops?

Jen Mitsuko has captured this feeling in her work titled Roar of an Uncontrolled Wheel. It reminds me that even in the deepest silence, there is a constant, turning energy. Can you feel the earth moving beneath your feet?