“There is geometry in the humming of the strings, there is music in the spacing of the spheres.” ― Pythagoras
What is the shortest distance between two points? What is the shortest distance between two people? What is the angle of intersection when you are happy? And when you are lonely?
“He deals the cards to find the answer The sacred geometry of chance The hidden law of a probable outcome The numbers lead a dance” ― Dominic Miller, “The Shape of My Heart”
How do you build something structurally sound to house kindness, joy, courage, love, resilience? In a Universe of fact and feeling, of truth and spirit, how do you dwell in the spaces outlined by a complexity of ideas?
Aldo Leopold Shack
Geometry was my favorite subject my freshman year of High School. I liked my teacher; I liked that this kind of math was narrative. I was brand new to the school and to the state. In my 14-year-old brain, I was trying to figure out so much about how the world worked and how I fit in it. I was confused by many things, but I could follow geometry step-by-step and prove something. By the end of Freshman year, I had gained confidence and made some friends. ‘Geometry’, to me, will always symbolize a description of complexity in the cosmos that seems ordered and friendly, mysterious and vast, but approachable.
Straight lines are man-made, and they are all around us.
If you’ve followed my blog or know me at all, I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that I see myself as a Nature Girl. I don’t do Man-Made stuff if at all possible; I don’t seek it out, I don’t photograph it, I don’t buy it. But of course, that’s a delusion, really. I live in a house built with right angles, and I sell books which are usually rectangular. I am surrounded; I had best make peace with angles. Sharp, rigid, dogmatic angles. Plumb-lines and cages.
* peace *
(Wow, I can be judgmental.) Okay, horizons and vanishing points, inclines and steps. I don’t know if I will ever call them “beautiful”, but I can see that they are useful and interesting.
I glance out my window and see feathery frost, reminding me that snowflakes and crystals are made of straight angles. And my ego is made up of attachments and aversions.
I loved Geometry. As a freshman in High School, I was brand new to California and scared to death. I sat in the front row of Mr. Duport’s class and paid close attention. He was young and funny, and his students liked him. He made the classroom a comfortable place. He wrote in my yearbook at the end of the year how he enjoyed seeing me change into a sociable girl who talked to her classmates and spent less time with her head down in her proofs. I met him again at the 20th class reunion, and he remembered me fondly as smart and interesting…although perhaps that enthusiasm was aided by a few drinks. Anyway, Jim Duport, thanks for the memories.