“What is sacred about geometry to you?”

That was the question once put to me, and I had to sit with it. School geometry will teach you how to measure angles and maybe divide a circle, but it will not teach you what the seed of life is, nor will it prepare you for the moment when a compass in your hand becomes a threshold.

Gemynd Corpus is one of those thresholds. It began simply — phi ratio. Proportion as old as leaf and bone. But somewhere in the drawing, the proportions insisted on more space, and the form opened into an octahedral body. That’s when I knew — geometry is not always about what you build. Sometimes it builds itself through you.

Two forms met here — the phi spiral and the octahedron — but what emerged was not a “combo” of shapes. It was a third thing. A Memory Body. This is geometry as relationship: not static, not symbolic, but alive. Memory no longer sits as a ghost in the mind. It becomes structure — something your breath can inhabit. And even the unspoken number, the 13, finds its way in, not as trivia, but as a quiet current shaping the whole field.

This is why sacred geometry is not a relic or an exercise in nostalgia. Most will tell you all the patterns have been found, that there are no new forms. But stand in the relational field — where light, motion, perception, and memory braid together — and you’ll see: geometry is not finished. There are patterns waiting to be born, patterns that cannot be forced from a center, only revealed through relationship.

It is the responsibility and the privilege of the geometer to hold this sacred. To know that every line drawn in true proportion is not just an image — it is a possibility. And once drawn, it exists. You have midwifed it into the fabric of what can be.

Gemynd Corpus will always be, for me, a proof of that truth — a reminder that when you follow proportion with fidelity, you don’t just recall memory, you carry it forward in form.