Zeno’s Arrow

Here, in the middle, which is perhaps the start or the end, there is a notion.

If only the eye could stand above, hitched to the hawk as it cuts the air on its widening gyre, then the way out – or perhaps in – might be revealed.

There’s a wisdom in circles. Something ancient that exposes the absurdity of a suit and tie, that traces the unbroken curve between information and knowledge. The arrow loosed to fall forever towards its mark, the archer forgotten.

The notion does not hold. No matter how high the eye might climb, it is drawn back to here: the middle, where movement never started and will never end.

A thrumming shift in the soul’s blood; something understood.