When I first became interested in studying the art of sacred geometry, one of the first ideas I encountered was the idea that “the language of God is mathematics.” Galileo Galilei stated this, as well as other great masters, and I simply felt terrified and completely hopeless whenever I read about someone reaching this conclusion. Like many others, I certainly hadn’t learned anything remotely divine when dealing with numbers in school. I had a strong resistance to even trying to understand it then—yet, at the same time, I was filled with curiosity, especially since sacred geometry had become my new passion. Sooner or later, I realized, I would have to see mathematics with new eyes.
I began to understand this from the moment I picked up a pencil and began drawing sacred geometry, witnessing the beauty and harmony that could emerge simply by dividing a circle. From each point where two lines intersected, a thousand possibilities unfolded. If the divisions were incorrect or asymmetric, everything in the drawing would be affected—the whole design would appear crooked, simply because the message had been miscalculated or “spoken” incorrectly.
Suddenly, I was speaking a silent language, one that communicated without words. It felt like learning to dance without stepping on someone’s toes. It always began with an invisible point, placed with intention by my compass—one leg anchored on an empty surface, the other sweeping outward to form a circle. From that dot the message expanded as far as it could. Was I writing the story of the Big Bang? Or of an oak tree that began from a tiny seed? Or perhaps even my own story—how did I truly begin? Was I born from an empty page or from the third spark created when two points combined?
As I traced mandalas with pure and simple geometry, I could hear and see the story of all creation, repeating itself on another scale: emptiness (zero), a point (one), and from there, everything evolved, expanded, and found its place in existence. It all starts with that single point—a seed, an egg, a cell, an atom, a simple idea, a point of origin.
And then I felt ready to listen to the ancient masters who taught in this very language, seeing numbers not merely as quantities, but as qualities—each giving rise to the next, unfolding into infinity.
As I ventured deeper into the world of sacred geometry, it became clear that every civilization—from Egypt to the Incas in Peru, the Mayans to the Native Americans, from the Celts in Europe to the ancient cultures that came before them, across the Middle East, China, India, Indonesia, Tibet, and Japan—had discovered the same universal language of numbers and geometry. Each translated it into their own art with their own symbols, but the same idea of numbers.
Any culture that turned its eyes to the sky—watching the stars, the Sun, and the Moon—inevitably noticed the rhythms of nature. They observed the changing seasons, the waxing and waning of the Moon, the cycles of women, the ebb and flow of the tides, the pulse of life itself. And in that observation, they all reached the same realization: beneath the vast diversity of the universe, a pattern repeats itself, endlessly woven into the fabric of existence.
This underlying order, this harmony of creation, arises from the simplest of numbers. The Greek philosopher Plato called these fundamental numbers and shapes—the ones from which all else emerges—the Platonic Solids: five perfect three-dimensional forms, each with equal sides, each representing one of the essential elements—space, fire, air, water, and earth. Their symmetry and perfection were seen as the very blueprint of the cosmos, built with all its complexity but out of simple “pieces” like a Lego.
So revered was this knowledge that above the entrance to Plato’s Academy, these words were inscribed:
Let no man ignorant of geometry enter here.
Pythagoras is another name we recognize from school, mostly because of a certain triangle, yet his very existence remains unproven. What we do have are stories, some portraying him as a mystical figure, a man who believed in reincarnation, or what was more commonly known at the time in a tradition called Orphism, which taught that the soul and body were bound by an unequal contract. The soul was divine, immortal, and longed for freedom, while the body served as its temporary prison. Death briefly broke this bond, yet the soul was destined to be reborn, moving through cycles of birth and rebirth in both human and animal forms. Orpheus preached that through asceticism and purification, the soul could gradually ascend, becoming ever purer with each life, until it finally returned to its divine origin.
Mathematically speaking, to return to the source is to return to zero. The soul longs for this return, while the body resists; to the body it means death. But for the soul, as they believed, it is like a drop returning to the ocean. It ceases to exist as a single drop, yet in doing so it becomes part of the source from which all other drops arise.
Pythagoras was born around 570 BCE on the Greek island of Samos, in the eastern Aegean Sea, near the coast of modern-day Turkey. Later, he fled to Croton in southern Italy, where he founded a school that some even regarded as a cult, and for which he and his disciples would face persecution.
The initiates of Pythagoras’ school were sworn to secrecy, living a communal, ascetic life in devotion to their master, who was seen as a truly enlightened being, perhaps even a god. Men and women alike were welcome, but only after enduring a strict five-year period of absolute silence, a necessary preparation to receive his secret teachings.
Life in this school was governed by austere conditions: discipline, obedience, simplicity, contemplation, vegetarianism, physical and spiritual purity, and relentless study. Yet, despite its intensity, the school was not intended to be a new religion or cult, as some may have assumed. Pythagoras insisted that his teachings pointed toward what he called the Universal Truth—truths that remained constant, regardless of whether one was a Christian or a Hindu, or even if humans existed or not. These truths, he believed, were universal, and they could be divided into four primary realms: numbers, geometry, music, and cosmology.
The concept of numbers suggests that everything that exists emerges from the first, and through a logical progression, creates a harmonious and sustainable diversity. Much like the abstract idea that forms the order of the threads in a woven fabric, the very codes the divine breath would use to bring forth the second expression: geometry.
Geometry, then, becomes the manifestation of numbers taking shape in space, giving birth to stars, galaxies, planets, sentient beings, flowers, and all the chemical components that, in turn, are like microcosms, identical to the macrocosmos, following the same geometric rules of form, yet just at different proportions. The creation of form moves in cycles, and this brings us to the next category: music.
Music reveals to us that everything in the universe has its rhythm, its beat, its unique combination of notes. One of Pythagoras’ profound theories was the Music of the Spheres. He believed that each celestial body emitted its own vibration, a kind of a hum, as it moved through the cosmos, creating a cosmic symphony that, although inaudible to the human ear, was perceptible on a spiritual level.
The connection between music and mathematics was fundamental to Pythagoras. He discovered that musical notes could be harmoniously arranged based on simple numerical proportions. For him, playing or listening to music was a way to align the soul with the very order of the universe.
And when there are numbers, geometry, and music, there is cosmology, the union of pure numbers: numbers in space (geometry), numbers in time (music), and numbers in both space and time (cosmology); the study of the cosmos. This cosmos refers not only to the heavens above but also to the inner cosmos. By understanding the nature of the world around us, we come to realize that the same rules govern our inner world. Our lives, too, follow rhythms, cycles, and patterns that repeat. And by truly understanding these universal truths, we begin to comprehend ourselves and our harmonious place in the dance of creation.
The secret symbol of Pythagoras’ school was the pentagram. A symbol so familiar to us today, we see it in many contexts: stars indicating excellence, such as five-star hotels and restaurants, Hollywood stars, the ranking of a general’s stars, and the stars on the flags of many countries. But the pentagram is also a symbol of the secret of life, where numbers and geometry align in perfect harmony. This harmony can be seen reflected in nature, for example, in flowers, with almost all edible fruits coming from plants that bear five-pointed flowers.
I came to understand the pentagram, too, when I repeatedly drew it. There is a pattern known as the “Pythagorean Lute,” which is a star with multiple fractional repetitions of itself in a fractal design—an image that, through focus, leads to a meditative state. If we draw a pentagram within a pentagon, new subdivisions will create smaller pentagrams, generating an infinite progression in which each new iteration maintains the same golden ratio. Each segment of the pentagram is in golden proportion to the smaller segment.
The pentagram holds within it a perfect balance between unity and multiplicity. The golden ratio ensures that the shape of the pentagram is self-similar—that is, any subdivision within it produces identical figures at a smaller scale, perpetuating infinitely. This characteristic reflects a profound philosophical concept: the principle of unity within diversity. Just as the universe is composed of countless parts that follow unique, universal laws, the pentagram shows us that the structure of the whole is mirrored in each of its smaller parts. This is evident in the work with stem cells, as within a single cell lies the information for the whole, capable of multiplying itself identically.
The Pythagoreans saw the pentagram as a symbol of life, health, and perfection because it reflected the mathematical harmony that structured existence. Additionally, the five points of the pentagram were associated with the five fundamental elements needed to generate life.
There is much to be said about the pentagram, but another important symbol for Pythagoras was the tetraktys—a sequence of 10 points that form a triangle, with each point representing a number.
The sum of the first four numbers (1 + 2 + 3 + 4 = 10) represented the totality, the complete circle of existence. Each line of the tetraktys symbolized a fundamental principle:
Unity (Monad): the absolute principle, the primordial source of everything
Duality (Dyad): the polarity of the universe, the existence of opposites, like light and darkness
Harmony (Triad): the balance between opposites, the synthesis of opposing forces
Plenitude (Tetrad): the complete manifestation of reality, the totality of the cosmos
The Pythagoreans discovered that the relationships between the numbers in the tetraktys corresponded to perfect musical proportions. The division of a musical string into ratios of 1:2, 2:3, and 3:4 generates harmonic intervals that form the basis of Western music (the octave, fifth, and fourth). This reinforced the idea that the universe is governed by numbers and harmonic vibrations, returning to the Universal Truths. The tetraktys also symbolized the journey of the individual: beginning with unity (1), facing the duality of the world (2), learning to harmonize opposites (3), and ultimately achieving a complete understanding of reality (4).
I’m sure I’ve only glimpsed the tip of the iceberg of a profound truth right beneath my nose—one that I was never taught to see, hear, or savor. Yet, when I sit in silence, deeply contemplating nature, it patiently reveals to me the truth of what we are made of. What Pythagoras came to teach is the possible alphabet, where each letter, from 1 to 10 in the tetraktys, allows the universe to create infinite sentences and stories. It would be a great pity to leave this existence illiterate. Even with limited knowledge, much like someone who simply loves life, this glimpse already grants me both grand and small moments of epiphany. For the world may be a mystery, but it is no secret to those with open eyes.
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