Firstly, the Earth itself spins on an axis. In fact, everything in the universe spins, unless you’re at the very center of the sun. In that way, the wheel itself is a microcosm of us all. And that’s just one aspect. Making the wheel so small, and with handles, illustrates man’s attempt to manipulate the world, while the randomness of his success proves our existential nature, how we really have so little control. Further, doesn’t everything, no matter how far away it goes or how fast it travels, always come back to us? It could be trouble. It could be a bad penny. If we’re lucky? Love. Moving right along, ff you’ll recall, man’s first invention—before fire, by some accounts—is the wheel, what we associate as the birth of engineering, man’s conquest over nature, our attempt to control the universe. Speaking of which, “Spinning your wheels” is also one of our more popular adages, one that evokes the image of gears moving throughout the head (in place of the brain), thought itself the bi-product of a semi-complex machine, moving parts rolling about each other, perpetuating motion, i.e., ideas. Time, which we are all slaves to, is controlled by clocks, run by the same inner workings of gears. Sometimes I take things further and project myself into the clockmaker’s role, one theory of the creator of the universe. In this version, God merely sets the game into motion and watches as the players fulfill their own destiny, using the tools they’ve been given, following a distinct set of rules. Sure, once in a while, I step in to move things along, but for the most part, the wheel dictates all. The wheel decides who lives and who dies, gives us choices, indiscriminately takes them away. The wheel simultaneously guides us along, encourages us, and destroys us, but never gives us the answers, hoping that we keep asking, keep searching, confidant that one day, on our own, we’ll fill in the blanks.