20. Spirals in the Sky

Look upward at night, and the universe reveals its infinite spirals. Galaxies spin in silent grandeur, tracing paths shaped over billions of years. The stars curve around invisible centres, forming loops, arcs, and coils that remind us of the motion underlying all existence.

I stand beneath the heavens, feeling small but connected. Each spiral above mirrors the spirals within me, the curl of thought, the loops of emotion, the patterns of growth that trace my own path through life. The cosmos teaches that motion is not always linear. Even in stillness, the universe turns. Even in silence, the spiral moves.

Clouds follow similar patterns, curling in the sky, twisting, bending, and dispersing. Storms coil in magnificent arcs, spinning energy across the earth. Even wind follows spirals, invisible yet present, shaping leaves and branches, tracing the same geometry that structures galaxies. Motion is everywhere, from the vast to the intimate, always spiralling, always unfolding.

The sky reminds us of continuity. Stars die, but their light returns, spiralling through space to touch distant worlds. Galaxies collide, merge, and evolve, continuing the dance of creation. Life itself mirrors this motion: beginnings and endings, joy and loss, growth and decay, all spiral forward, shaping the universe in ways we can only partially perceive.

The spiral in the sky is a teacher. It whispers that even our smallest actions are part of larger curves, that we move within patterns that extend beyond comprehension. The cosmic spiral mirrors our inner spirals, teaching patience, reflection, and awe.

I lie on the grass, eyes tracing the infinite arcs above, feeling the spirals of thought, memory, and breath aligning with the vast spirals of stars. The sky moves. We move. The spiral never ends.