The Lord of the Rings

There’s something ancient in the shape of a circle.
Endless, seamless, without entrance or escape.
It whispers of wholeness, of return, of time folding in on itself.
But not all circles are sacred. Some are snares.

When the ring becomes ritual, and ritual becomes law, a symbol is no longer just a symbol.
It becomes a spell.
And Saturn, the old god cloaked in black, watches quietly as we bind ourselves to these oaths.
Not with force, but with tradition. With reverence. With ceremony.

A ring placed on a finger.
An oath spoken in a black-robed chamber.
A robe worn in silence, whether by judge, priest, or scholar.
These are not random.
They are echoes of an older order—one that rewards structure and punishes spontaneity.
One that prizes control disguised as commitment.

The priest wears black not just for humility, but to mirror the authority of Saturn.
The academic wears black to signal mastery, but also submission to a system.
The banker, the lawyer, the judge—they all wear the same color.
The color of time. The color of rules. The color of Saturn.

Even love is looped through with Saturn’s fingerprints.
A ring given in marriage, a sacred act—yes.
But also a contract.
A boundary drawn around desire.
A form imposed on the formless.

The feminine too, adorned in circles.
Hoop earrings. Gold loops. Silent signs of alignment to unseen codes.
Listening to gods that may not be theirs.
Inherited rituals, rarely questioned.

Saturn, in myth, devours his children.
But in astrology, he teaches them.
Through boundaries. Through difficulty. Through time.
And maybe that’s the deeper truth:
The systems we live in were never meant to be evil.
Only efficient. Only enduring.
But without soul, efficiency becomes emptiness.

So what do we do with this?
We notice. We ask. We look again.
Not all rings bind.
But some do.

The Lord of the Rings is not just a story.
It’s a reflection.
A myth in which the smallest among us must choose—
whether to wear the ring or to let it go.
Whether to obey the circle, or to step beyond it.

Saturn gives us form.
But form without spirit is a cage dressed as tradition.
And sometimes, the most powerful ritual
is the one we choose not to repeat.

— Wout

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