Imagine history written on a very slow dial. As Earth’s axis wobbles, the equinox sunrise shifts against the backdrop of the zodiac, completing a full circle in roughly twenty-five to twenty-six thousand years. When the pointer lingers near a constellation, we call that span an Age. Twelve constellations, one long cycle. Each Age lasts on the order of two millennia, long enough to color eras with recurring symbols, animals, and civic ideals without dictating anyone’s fate.
Wheel of Heaven treats these Ages as a timeline, not destiny. They help us locate when a motif belonged, the way tree rings date a season. Boundaries are not hard switches; cultures feel the change as overlapping waves. The language of an outgoing Age can persist while the imagery of the incoming one rises. This is why stories, art, and temple orientations sometimes seem mixed: they are recording a sky in transition.
Across civilizations, the same patterns cluster when the pointer returns. Bulls and harvest lawfulness, heroes with water and floodcraft, the birth of rational statehood and mountains of stone—these are not proofs by themselves, but they are breadcrumbs you can place on a single, checkable dial. When texts, star markers, and material traces line up, the picture sharpens.
Within this framework, Wheel of Heaven proposes that Genesis is not a diary of miracles but a staged record of engineering epochs keyed to this clock. In our map, “Day One” anchors to the Age of Capricorn (21810–19650 BCE), the first turn in a sequence that proceeds with the sky. The claim is simple and modest: if the Ages are real as a clock, they should help us read where certain layers of story sit in time. If they do not, we revise the map.
Think of the "Twelve World Ages" diagram on this site as a ring you can walk around. Each sector notes typical motifs, likely architectural habits, and known alignments. As new evidence appears, the notes change. The goal is clarity over certainty, a living timeline anyone can audit with the sky itself.