The Eternal Circle: On Unity, Hope, and Shared Destiny
“You begin to realize that you’re always standing in the middle of a sacred circle, and that’s your whole life,” writes Tibetan Buddhist nun, Pema Chödrön.
“Whatever you do for the rest of your life, the circle is always around you. Everyone who walks up to you has entered that sacred space, and it’s not an accident. Whatever comes into the space is there to teach you.”
And so we behold the circle—not as a mere tracing of lines upon the ground, but as a living emblem of our interwoven fates. Round its rim, we are bound each to the other, to the earth beneath us, and to the secret currents that flow through stone, water, and sky. In the circle we do not stand as solitary figures, for even in our darkest nights, a guiding light shines still—carried by the many hands and hearts that gather with us. The circle holds and shelters us, reminding us of an ancient truth: we are made stronger together, our stories intertwined like threads in a tapestry that knows no end.
From the days when mortals first kindled flame under unbounded skies, the circle has been our hearth, our altar, and our haven. It has borne witness to our laughter and our weeping, our vows of love and our cries for the lost. The circle endures without beginning or boundary, calling all who would draw near—be they stranger or kin, rock or tree, river or vision. In that sacred space, we learn to tend not only to ourselves but to each other, and to those yet unborn who shall one day stand where we stand.
In such a circle once stood the poet Dr. Maya Angelou, who raised her voice upon Capitol Hill in the year 1993, summoning the Rock, the River, and the Tree—ancient allies of humanity—to bear witness:
“A Rock, A River, A Tree,
Hosts to species long since departed…”
Then the Rock, unyielding and stalwart, gave counsel:
“Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny…
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness…”
Next, the River, coursing eternally through the world, offered its song:
“Come rest here by my side…
If you will study war no more.
Come,
Clad in peace, and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the stone were one…”
And so the circle expanded, gathering not only those present but also the memories of countless generations:
“Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation…
You, the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream…”
Dr. Angelou’s words reshaped the circle into a place of reckoning and renewal, where ancient wounds might be seen and, through truth, find their healing. Her call was for courage and unity:
“The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.”
karuna mudra, a symbol of compassion
In the circle, no wall stands to keep us apart; no voice is silenced in solitude. The Rock speaks of endurance, the River of healing, the Tree of deep-rooted wisdom.
Together, they remind us that our survival depends on the care of the many rather than the strength of the few. When life’s burdens cast their heaviest shadows, we return to the circle for solace and hope. Here, each of us is both giver and receiver, a vital part of the living whole.
My mentor Starhawk—wisdom-keeper of the earth—once taught: “Community. Somewhere, there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open to receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power.” In this vision, our interdependence is not mere idea but shining reality. We find ourselves woven into the land and into one another, part of a web that stretches across oceans and ages.
Like a rite of elder days, Dr. Angelou’s invocation summoned not only the forces of nature but the spirit of fellowship—that unbreakable bond tethering us to each other and to the green earth under our feet. Thus, the circle becomes both sanctuary and clarion call, where we may tend old scars and dream of new beginnings.
From all this, we learn the circle’s abiding lesson: we are never alone. The smallest kindness we offer to another is a gift bestowed upon ourselves, for in this sacred web of interdependence, the well-being of one echoes through the whole.
Even in the deepest gloom, the circle does not crack beneath the weight of our fears or sorrows; rather, it widens, enfolding every new voice and every trembling heart. Within its encompassing arms, each presence arrives not as an intruder but as a teacher, bearing gifts of wisdom, empathy, or resilience we may never have imagined. Here, vulnerability is not weakness but a sign of our shared humanity, and compassion flows in every direction like a great river returning again and again to nurture the land.
When our spirits falter, we look around and see that we are supported by countless hands—those of our friends and kindred, but also the hands of ancestors long gone and descendants yet to come, each connected by the unbreakable thread of life that winds through every age. In such company, we rediscover that our lives are woven together into one vast and enduring tapestry. No thread exists in isolation; each contributes color and pattern to the whole.
Thus held, we can shoulder our burdens with renewed strength, uplifted by the knowledge that our struggles are shared, our triumphs multiply, and our power to endure grows beyond any single lifetime. And so, the circle endures, generation upon generation, guiding us toward a love that is ever-expanding and a hope that can outlast any darkness.
Citations:
Angelou, Maya. On the Pulse of Morning. Recited at the inauguration of President Bill Clinton, January 20, 1993.
Chödrön, Pema. When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times. Shambhala Publications, 1997.
Starhawk. Dreaming the Dark: Magic, Sex, and Politics. Beacon Press, 1982
