7×7

It’s the sun’s birthday today, and my own. I’m thinking about my forty-nine solar orbits (as with the Talmud, so with memory), and the day of my death, passing by uncelebrated each year for lack of prior knowledge, and the shape of the Eternal Return in spacetime, and how Vico’s vision of history isn’t circular but helical; how, from above, it might look like waves propagating in a pond you lob a rock into, or tree rings, but followed down, or up, it’s actually Dantean…