Several years ago I bought a piece of jewelry at a flea market–“I’ll sell it to you half off,” the guy said–and, despite the fact that I need to have part of it repaired, it continues to fascinate me. I could go on about all the reasons why, but the main thing is that front and center, made out of lapis lazuli (my favorite stone), are seven circles in a circle. Y’all, this is a simple design–you can recreate by setting down a single penny then placing six other pennies around it–but I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve Googled this shape, flipped through books about symbols to find it, all in hopes of learning what it has to teach me.

Naturally, the usual things about sevens come up. The are seven days in a week, seven “planets” in ancient astronomy, seven base metals in alchemy, seven major chakras. Beyond that, the design implies the Star of David, one triangle with its base in heaven reaching downward that intersects with one triangle with its base on earth reaching up. Of course, there are many other meanings to The Star, like balance, yin and yang.

Suffice it to say that I haven’t been able to get enough of seven circles inside an eighth. Why, just two days ago I realized that one of my framed brooches included this very layout. I hadn’t even noticed when I bought it or framed it, but now that I see it, it rivets me.

I knew I picked it out for a reason.

Amazed by this “coincidence,” last night I once again took to Google to learn about the seven circles (of jewelry design, not of hell, although that’s ANOTHER seven connection). Well, I stumbled across a book I hadn’t seen before, The Seventh Circle in Bible Prophesy by Wayne L. Atchison (link to PDF file). And whereas I haven’t finished it, I stayed up until four last night reading it. In short, Atchison proposes that although most of the world counts in tens, God counts in sevens. God made the world in six days and rested on the seventh, Joshua marched around the walls of Jericho one time for six days and seven times on the seventh, and so on. Atchison also points out that just like seven is associated worldwide with completion or perfection, eight (or any number after a multiple of seven) is associated with new beginnings. This is why, he says, many feast days in The Bible are on the 15th (after the 14th) or 22nd (after the 21st). Or why Jubilee is in the 50th year (after the 49th, which, incidentally, is seven sets of seven years).

Now, that’s about as far as I’ve gotten. Well, wait. This afternoon I Googled “counting by 7s” and came up with the title of a juvenile fiction book by Holly Goldberg Sloan. So I checked it out from the library. And whereas I don’t know what it will reveal to me, I’m eager to find out. One of my points here being that I don’t think any of this–the flea-market cuff, the half-off guy that sold it to me, the brooch, the books–is coincidental. Rather, I believe there’s a rabbit hole the universe wants me to go down (who knows why?), and this is how it’s leading me there. Can I prove this? Of course not. You can never prove your mysteries. But Joseph Campbell said, “Follow your fascinations,” and that’s what I’m doing.

Who knows where they will take me or what I shall learn along the way?

This afternoon and evening I cleaned house for a client of mine. While dusting and scrubbing I began listening to a book on audio–The Way of the Rose: The Radical Path of the Divine Feminine Hidden in the Rosary by Clark Strand and Perdita Finn. Now, I’m not Catholic and I’m not pushing anything, but, y’all, this book, this story, is beautiful. In short, Strand was a Buddhist monk and spiritual seeker, and then–out of nowhere–he had an encounter with the Virgin Mary. It’s a long story, but she told him, like she apparently tells many of those to whom she appears: “Pray. Pray the rosary.”

Again, I’m not done with this book, but it’s been on my mind, so I’d be disingenuous if I didn’t talk about it, if I at least didn’t mention it. Because I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Like the seven circles, I don’t think it’s an accident that this book was brought to my attention (on a podcast), especially after a friend of mine gave me a print of the Madonna a year ago and got me a bit obsessed with her statues ever since. And get this shit. Just today as I was one hour into listening to The Way of the Rose, a stranger messaged me and asked if I could frame one of her family heirlooms/brooches. And whereas they had eleven different options, three of them were–roses.

The big thing that caught me about the book today–indeed, it brought me to tears–was the way the authors describe The Love of The Mother, the way she cradles us as we come into this world, the way she holds us as we go out. “I will always be with you,” she says. “You are my child. You will never be alone.” Admittedly, as someone who’s been raised by a patriarchal society and religion, praying to the feminine is foreign. Like, it sounds iffy at best, and I hope it doesn’t make the masculine mad. And yet perhaps this is the point, that all too often we’ve been taught to fear the divine, rather than approaching All That Is as a tender, compassionate, welcoming, and caring force. A motherly force and not just a fatherly one. A force so full of love for us that it would gladly listen to our concerns. That it would gently lead us down The Path into our own mysteries.

Which are, of course, the mysteries of life itself.