The Return of Circular Wisdom 1
The Return of Circular Wisdom 1
They drew a line from A to B and called the movement progress,
They mapped the charts of more-and-more upon a stripped-bare canvas.
A checklist for the wounded soul, a timeline for the earth,
They measured life in take-and-waste, discounting quiet worth.
They saw the soil of Africa as wealth to pillage, plunder,
And traded nations on a ledger, tearing worlds asunder.
But lines must break when engines fail and production starts to tire,
The ancient roots begin to stir beneath the embers of the fire.
To recognize that Ala, the sacred soil, its people, and its space,
Are not a source for plunder, nor a market or a trade.
For wisdom is a rounded thing, a medicine wheel, a ring,
The rhythm of the Maasai plains where cyclical seasons sing.
We climb a spiral staircase now, through shadow, grief, and strain,
We circle back to older hurts, but not in mindless pain.
It is no trapped and endless wheel, no Sisyphusian stone,
But a conscious, deep returning home to things we’ve always known.
A purposeful integration, a higher vantage point to see
That healing isn’t linear, it’s a branching, looping tree.
And learning leaves the printed page, the narrow, written test,
To hold a vast, comprehensive truth inside a human breast.
The earth demands a closed-loop grace, where what is taken mends,
Where every ending starts anew, and every beginning bends.
We are back, tracing the tails of wisdom
For this is the return to circular wisdom
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