All that I know of War and Peace, Nature and Progress of Man, yea, Life and Death comes from The Pendulum Swings of Energies. History, The Arts have recorded these wild swings for posterity.
I know of no one except the dim that would argue against the Female-Male Energies animating The Pendulum; having occurred just when the particular energies were needed most (The Universe). The difficulty is there are those that inhibit the swing back from one extreme or the other when their requirement for a task has reached its conclusion. This applies to the individual as much as it does the collective. It is not a difficult task of philosophy, reason, intellectualism to understand the ramifications of negating the pendulum swing to a more moderate one, oscillating back and forth between the female-male energies. As a matter of record, every person has aspects of both energies, to deny this is to force yourself to live in singularity, The Tarot and Astrology highlight this and at the same time warn us when our aspects have swung too far, too long, becoming stuck in one extreme or the other and tell us of the ramifications.
Yes, life, outside forces foisted upon us do require the pendulum to swing to one extreme or the other at exact moments/occurrences, delineated duration’s however, never forget to moderate the swing, reclaim your energies, Sovereignty of Being, Self~Mastery and stop pissing them away so cheaply, so readily.
Moderation of Your Pendulum (F-M Energy) Swings is key.
We would like to thank Joan Pope/Temple Ov Saturn for the permissions to use the art work.
To explore the Outstanding Creatives of Joan Pope (Artist, Video Editor, Musician) Visit:
On the Medusa of Leonardo Da Vinci in the Florentine Gallery
Percy Bysshe Shelley – 1792-1822
It lieth, gazing on the midnight sky,
Upon the cloudy mountain peak supine;
Below, far lands are seen tremblingly;
Its horror and its beauty are divine.
Upon its lips and eyelids seems to lie
Loveliness like a shadow, from which shrine,
Fiery and lurid, struggling underneath,
The agonies of anguish and of death.
Yet it is less the horror than the grace
Which turns the gazer's spirit into stone;
Whereon the lineaments of that dead face
Are graven, till the characters be grown
Into itself, and thought no more can trace;
'Tis the melodious hue of beauty thrown
Athwart the darkness and the glare of pain,
Which humanize and harmonize the strain.
And from its head as from one body grow,
As [ ] grass out of a watery rock,
Hairs which are vipers, and they curl and flow
And their long tangles in each other lock,
And with unending involutions shew
Their mailed radiance, as it were to mock
The torture and the death within, and saw
The solid air with many a ragged jaw.
And from a stone beside, a poisonous eft
Peeps idly into those Gorgonian eyes;
Whilst in the air a ghastly bat, bereft
Of sense, has flitted with a mad surprise
Out of the cave this hideous light had cleft,
And he comes hastening like a moth that hies
After a taper; and the midnight sky
Flares, a light more dread than obscurity.
'Tis the tempestuous loveliness of terror;
For from the serpents gleams a brazen glare
Kindled by that inextricable error,
Which makes a thrilling vapour of the air
Become a [ ] and ever-shifting mirror
Of all the beauty and the terror there—
A woman's countenance, with serpent locks,
Gazing in death on heaven from those wet rocks.