“Here’s an idea,” Agamemnon said to his brother Menelaus. “Why don’t we find some way to carve a curve? I was thinkin’ about this, and I think I have an idea for a machine that will do the trick. I’m going to call it a lathe. Not only can we keep the soup from running out of the dish, but I think I can make a utensil that we can use like a little shovel.” The rest, as they say, is the history of a bowl of avgolemono and a spoon.
Humans are the lathes of lathes. And among the curved surfaces that we have shaped is one called Earth. We’ve reshaped much of the planet, mostly because we shape tools like lathes. But before we take pride in our products, we should recognize that we, too, have been put on the lathe of place.
When a blast of Arctic air covers the northern landmasses, people change their daily lives to survive the cold. From the populations of large cities to individuals in houses, the lathe of winter shapes how northerners live. And summer does the same. So do the tropics, or drought, or food source. Place is a lathe, and we are its products.
Place is more than weather, of course. Place is both culture and environment. We’re part of a reciprocating process. Move into a new place. You’ll work your lathe to reshape it, but in the process you will be reshaped. Yes, you are clever enough to make a curved dish to hold avgolemono and to make a spoon to eat it. But while you dine, realize that like that bowl, you have been shaped by the lathe of place.
Time for some self-examination: How and to what extent has the lathe of place shaped you? To what extent have you been the lathe of place? And now the big question: Having used your lathe, have you since stopped its turning? Have you given up on reshaping?
Keep your lathe spinning 24/7. It doesn’t even have to stop when you die. What you produce might be useful for centuries like some bowl from Mycenae.