It was lunar symbolism that enabled man to relate and connect such heterogeneous things as: birth, becoming, death, and ressurection; the waters, plants, woman, fecundity, and immortality; the cosmic darkness, prenatal existence, and life after death, followed by the rebirth of the lunar type ("light coming out of darkness"); weaving, the symbol of the "thread of life, " fate, temporality, and death; and yet others. In general most of the ideas of cycle, dualism, polarity, opposition, conflict, but also of reconciliation of contraries, of coincidentia oppositorum, were either discovered or clarified by virtue of lunar symbolism. We may even speak of a metaphysics of the moon, in the sense of a consistent system of "truths" relating to the mode of being peculiar to living creatures, to everything in the cosmos that shares in life, that is, in becoming, growth and waning, death and ressurrection.
The queen's eyes smouldered. "I know my own kind when I see them, and right now there is one in these city walls." She pointed a finger toward the balcony."I want her found and brought to me." "Right," said Kai,"that'll be no problem in a city of two and a half million people. Let me just go dig out my special Lunar detector, and I'll get right on that.
The queen's eyes smouldered. "I know my own kind when I see them, and right now there is one in these city walls." She pointed a finger toward the balcony."I want her found and brought to me." "Right, " said Kai, "that'll be no problem in a city of two and a half million people. Let me just go dig out my special Lunar detector, and I'll get right on that.
He was visited on a lunar basis by these great unspecific waves of horniness, whereby all women within a certain age group and figure envelope became immediately and impossibly desirable. He emerged from these spells with eyeballs still oscillating and a wish that his neck could rotate through the full 360 degrees.
The most impressive airplane ever, I believe, was designed only a dozen years after the first operational jet. Stayed in service till it was too rusty to fly, taken out of service. We retreated in '98 back to something that was developed in '56. What? The most impressive spaceship ever, I believe, was a Grumman Lunar Lander.
What intelligent being, what being capable of responding emotionally to a beautiful sight, can look at the jagged, silvery lunar crescent trembling in the azure sky, even through the weakest of telescopes, and not be struck by it in an intensely pleasurable way, not feel cut off from everyday life here on Earth and transported toward that first step on celestial journeys?
I lay in bed that night, a first-time drunkard at seven years of age, pondering the punishment I knew would arrive on callused palms. In the forest, as if sensing my plight, wolves howled nocturnal laments. The magnificent lunar lullabies of my lupine brethren wooed me into a deep and cleansing sleep.
Space has not changed but technology has, in many cases, improved dramatically. A good example is digital technology where today's cell phones are far more powerful than the computers on the Apollo Command Module and Lunar Module that we used to navigate to the moon and operate all the spacecraft control systems.
All Science is necessarily prophetic, so truly so, that the power of prophecy is the test, the infallible criterion, by which any presumed Science is ascertained to be actually & verily science. The Ptolemaic Astronomy was barely able to prognosticate a lunar eclipse; with Kepler and Newton came Science and Prophecy.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
The lunar flights give you a correct perception of our existence. You look back at Earth from the moon, and you can put your thumb up to the window and hide the Earth behind your thumb. Everything you've ever known is behind your thumb, and that blue-and-white ball is orbiting a rather normal star, tucked away on the outer edge of a galaxy.
I think the thing that impressed me the most was the Lunar's sunrises and sunsets. These in particular bring out the stark nature of the terrain. . . . The horizon here is very, very stark, the sky is pitch black and the earth, or the moon rather, excuse me, is quite light, and the contrast between the sky and the moon is a vivid dark line.
In general, I've found female protagonists more intriguing to work with than males. I cherish women and have always preferred their company, reveling in their perfumes, their contours, their finer-grained sensibilities, lunar intuitions, nurturing instincts and relatively unfettered emotions--although I'm certainly not unaware that there are plenty of neurotic, uptight, stupid women in the world.
The lunar flights give you a correct perception of our existence. You look back at Earth from the moon, and you can put your thumb up to the window and hide the Earth behind your thumb. Everything youve ever known is behind your thumb, and that blue-and-white ball is orbiting a rather normal star, tucked away on the outer edge of a galaxy.
The time is perhaps not altogether too green for the vile suggestion that art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and does not make clear, and more than the light of day (or night) makes the subsolar, -lunar, and -stellar excrement. Art is the sun, moon, and stars of the mind, the whole mind.
To send humans back to the moon would not be advancing. It would be more than 50 years after the first moon landing when we got there, and we'd probably be welcomed by the Chinese. But we should return to the moon without astronauts and build, with robots, an international lunar base, so that we know how to build a base on Mars robotically.
A bracing wind swirls about the boy and alights gently upon his shoulder to gape frightfully at droplets of fate joined infirmly to a sweep of atmospheric and lunar forces far beyond their capabilities to resist. He takes a long, deep breath of air-cleansed through its migration-and he closes his eyes. Scattered waves roll back in to the sea.
When I finally had the chance to make my childhood dream a reality - as a co-founder and chairman of Moon Express - my goal was to broaden participation in lunar exploration, and connect the common person to its results. We plan to send robotic rovers - not humans - to the Moon to search for precious metals and rare minerals on the Moon's surface.
Samuel Beckett's 'Waiting for Godot,' billed as 'the laugh sensation of two continents,' made its American debut at the Coconut Grove Playhouse, in Miami, Florida, in 1956. My father, Bert Lahr, was playing Estragon, one of the two bowler-hatted tramps who pass the time in a lunar landscape as they wait in vain for the arrival of a Mr. Godot.
In early historical civilization, lunar symbols wove together three major metaphorical concepts. The first is the idea of fertility. The moon controls the tides of both water and blood "" the sacred fluids of the early religions. The second is the concept of periodic rebirth, symbolized by the moon's monthly waning and renewal. The third is the notion of continually repeating cycles of change.
The year now is 1774. Poseurs or not, it is time to grow up. It is time to enter the public realm, the world of public acts and public attitudes. Everything that happens now will happen in the light of history. It is not a midday luminary, but a corpse-candle to the intellect; at best, it is a secondhand lunar light, error-breeding, sand-blind and parched.
Was it all in my head? A Lunar trick?" Her stomach twisted. "No." She shook her head, fervently. How to explain that she hadn't had the gift before? That she couldn't have used it against him? "I would never lie""" The words faded. She had lied. Everything he knew about her had been a lie. "I'm so sorry," she finished, the words falling lamely in the open air. Kai peeled his eyes away, finding some place of resignation off in the glistening garden. "You're even more painful to look at than she is.
Was it all in my head? A Lunar trick?' Her stomach twisted. 'No.' She shook her head, fervently. How to explain that she hadn't had the gift before? That she couldn't have used it against him? 'I would never lie-' The words faded. She had lied. Everything he knew about her had been a lie. 'I'm so sorry, ' she finished, the words falling lamely in the open air. Kai peeled his eyes away, finding some place of resignation off in the glistening garden. 'You're even more painful to look at than she is.
Like an abandoned dog who cannot find a smell or a track and roams along the roads, with no road, like the child who in a night of the fair gets lost among the crowd, and the air is dusty, and the candles fluttering, -astounded, his heart weighed down by music and by pain; that's how I am, drunk, sad by nature, a mad and lunar guitarist, a poet, and an ordinary man lost in dreams, searching constantly for God among the mists.
The exciting part for me, as a pilot, was the landing on the moon. That was the time that we had achieved the national goal of putting Americans on the moon. The landing approach was, by far, the most difficult and challenging part of the flight. Walking on the lunar surface was very interesting, but it was something we looked on as reasonably safe and predictable. So the feeling of elation accompanied the landing rather than the walking.
I love like a lawnmower in the desert. I love like a solar-powered lunar vehicle. I love like a wind-powered kite factory. Some might even say I love like an ice cube in an oven, but I'd vehemently disagree. It's not an ice cube, it's an ice sculpture-of your heart, and it's melting at this very moment.
A conexe£o entre o tempo, o inconsciente e o espirito lunar pertence, ainda mais profundamente do que tem sido demonstrado, a natureza essencial da conscieªncia matriarcal. Somente atraves de uma compreense£o adequada do care¡ter espiritual do arquetipo da lua podemos entender o significado da conscieªncia matriarcal e do 'espirito feminino'.
A little later, the Apollo mission was consummated and there were Americans on the moon. I remember distinctly looking up from the quad on what was quite a moon-flooded night, and thinking about it. They made it! The Stars and Stripes are finally flown on another orb! Also, English becomes the first and only language spoken on a neighboring rock! Who could forbear to cheer? Still, the experience was poisoned for me by having to watch Richard Nixon smirking as he babbled to the lunar-nauts by some closed-circuit link. Was even the silvery orb to be tainted by the base, earthbound reality of imperialism?
Easter occurs on different dates each year because, like the Jewish Passover, it is based upon the vernal equinox, that dramatic moment when the hours of the day-light and the hours of darkness at last draw parallel and then the light finally and triumphantly wins out. Thus Easter is always fixed as the first Sunday after the first full moon following the spring equinox. It's a cosmic, solar, and lunar event as deeply rooted in religious traditions originating from sun-god worship as one could conceivably imagine.
I'm not out to disturb anybody's faith. I happen to be happy and comfortable with a belief system that has a dual deity and operates on a lunar schedule. It suits my needs. If you happen to be happy and comfortable with a belief system that features a single masculine deity and operates on a solar schedule, fine. I don't give a fat damn. What matters is what you do, not who's name you do it in.
I was in no tent under leaves, sleepless and glad. There was no moon at all; along the world's coasts the sea tides would be springing strong. The air itself also has lunar tides; I lay still. Could I feel in the air an invisible sweep and surge, and an answering knock in the lungs? Or could I feel the starlight? Every minute on a square mile of this land one ten thousandth of an ounce of starlight spatters to earth. What percentage of an ounce did that make on my eyes and cheeks and arms, tapping and nudging as particles, pulsing and stroking as waves?
The huge round lunar clock was a gristmill. Shake down all the grains of Time""the big grains of centuries, and the small grains of years, and the tiny grains of hours and minutes""and the clock pulverized them, slid Time silently out in all directions in a fine pollen, carried by cold winds to blanket the town like dust, everywhere. Spores from that clock lodged in your flesh to wrinkle it, to grow bones to monstrous size, to burst feet from shoes like turnips. Oh, how that great machine... dispensed Time in blowing weathers.
The huge round lunar clock was a gristmill. Shake down all the grains of Time-the big grains of centuries, and the small grains of years, and the tiny grains of hours and minutes-and the clock pulverized them, slid Time silently out in all directions in a fine pollen, carried by cold winds to blanket the town like dust, everywhere. Spores from that clock lodged in your flesh to wrinkle it, to grow bones to monstrous size, to burst feet from shoes like turnips. Oh, how that great machine... dispensed Time in blowing weathers.
Within a year, possibly by next fall, " he was saying, "something that has never before been done, will be done. NASA will be sending men to the moon. Think of that. Men who were once in classrooms like this one will leave their footprints on the lunar surface." He paused. I leaned in close against the wall so I could hear him. "That is why you are sitting here tonight, and why you will be coming here in the months ahead. You come to dream dreams. You come to build fantastic castles up in the air. And you come to learn how to build the foundations that make those castles real. When the men who will command that mission were boys your age, no one knew. But in a few months, that's what will happen. So, twenty years from now, what will people say of you? 'No one knew then that this kid Washington Irving High School would grow up to do'... what? What castle will you build?
Gary D. Schmidt
Cold air rises from the ground as the sun goes down. The eye-burning clarity of the light intensifies. The southern rim of the sky glows to a deeper blue, to pale violet, to purple, then thins to grey. Slowly the wind falls, and the still air begins to freeze. The solid eastern ridge is black; it has a bloom on it like the dust on the skin of a grape. The west flares briefly. The long, cold amber of the afterglow casts clear black lunar shadows. There is an animal mystery in the light that sets upon the fields like a frozen muscle that will flex and wake at sunrise.
J. A. Baker
It was then between one o'clock in the morning and half-past that hour; the sky soon cleared a bit before me, and the lunar crescent peeped out from behind the clouds - that sad crescent of the last quarter of the moon. The crescent of the new moon, that which rises at four or five o'clock in the evening, is clear, bright and silvery; but that which rises after midnight is red, sinister and disquieting; it is the true crescent of the witches' Sabbath: all night-walkers must have remarked the contrast. The first, even when it is as narrow as a silver thread, projects a cheery ray, which rejoices the heart, and casts on the ground sharply defined shadows; while the latter reflects only a mournful glow, so wan that the shadows are bleared and indistinct. ("Who Knows?")
Guy de Maupassant
A Cathedral Fae§ade at Midnight Along the sculptures of the western wall I watched the moonlight creeping: It moved as if it hardly moved at all Inch by inch thinly peeping Round on the pious figures of freestone, brought And poised there when the Universe was wrought To serve its centre, Earth, in mankind's thought. The lunar look skimmed scantly toe, breast, arm, Then edged on slowly, slightly, To shoulder, hand, face; till each austere form Was blanched its whole length brightly Of prophet, king, queen, cardinal in state, That dead men's tools had striven to simulate; And the stiff images stood irradiate. A frail moan from the martyred saints there set Mid others of the erection Against the breeze, seemed sighings of regret At the ancient faith's rejection Under the sure, unhasting, steady stress Of Reason's movement, making meaningless.
Prison Moon Four a.m. work duty and I begin my solitary trudge from outer compound to main building. A shivering guard, chilled in his lonely outpost, strip searches me until content that my inconsequential nudity. poses no threat and then whispers the secret code that allows me admittance into the open quarter-mile walkway. I chuff my way into another day as ice glints on the razor wire and the rifles note my numbed passage, silent but for my huffs and scuffle on the cracked, slippery sidewalk A new moon, veiled in wispy fog and beringed in glory, hangs over the prison, its gaudy glow taunting the halogen spotlights. The moon's creamy pull upsets some liquid equilibrium within me and like tides, wolves and all manner of madmen, I surrender disturbed by the certainty that under the bony luminescence of a grinning moon The lunar deliriums grip me and I howl-once, then again, and surely somewhere an unbound sleeper stirs, penitence is dying a giddy death. I shake myself sane and as the echoes hang in the frigid air I explain to the wild-eyed guard that convicts, like all animals under the leash, must bay at the beauty beyond them.
Jorge Antonio Renaud
He insisted on clearing the table, and again devoted himself to his game of patience: piecing together the map of Paris, the bits of which he'd stuffed into the pocket of his raincoat, folded up any old how. I helped him. Then he asked me, straight out, 'What would you say was the true centre of Paris?' I was taken aback, wrong-footed. I thought this knowledge was part of a whole body of very rarefied and secret lore. Playing for time, I said, 'The starting point of France's roads... the brass plate on the parvis of Notre-Dame.' He gave me a withering look. 'Do you take for me a sap?' The centre of Paris, a spiral with four centres, each completely self-contained, independent of the other three. But you don't reveal this to just anybody. I suppose - I hope - it was in complete good faith that Alexandre Arnoux mentioned the lamp behind the apse of St-Germain-l'Auxerrois. I wouldn't have created that precedent. My turn now to let the children play with the lock. 'The centre, as you must be thinking of it, is the well of St-Julien-le-Pauvre. The 'Well of Truth' as it's been known since the eleventh century.' He was delighted. I'd delivered. He said, 'You know, you and I could do great things together. It's a pity I'm already 'beyond redemption', even at this very moment.' His unhibited display of brotherly affection was of childlike spontaneity. But he was still pursuing his line of thought: he dashed out to the nearby stationery shop and came back with a little basic pair of compasses made of tin. 'Look. The Vieux-Chene, the Well. The Well, the Arbre-a-Liege On either side of the Seine, adhering closely to the line he'd drawn, the age-old tavern signs were at pretty much the same distance from the magic well. 'Well, now, you see, it's always been the case that whenever something bad happens at the Vieux-Chene, a month later - a lunar month, that is, just twenty-eight days - the same thing happens at old La Frite's place, but less serious. A kind of repeat performance. An echo Then he listed, and pointed out on the map, the most notable of those key sites whose power he or his friends had experienced. In conclusion he said, 'I'm the biggest swindler there is, I'm prepared to be swindled myself, that's fair enough. But not just anywhere. There are places where, if you lie, or think ill, it's Paris you disrespect. And that upsets me. That's when I lose my cool: I hit back. It's as if that's what I was there for.
Pingala pode ser definida como a energia dine¢mica, ativa, masculina, positiva, yang, dentro de nossa personalidade. Ela tem um lado fesico e mental. Suas qualidades materiais se£o luz, calor, solar, energia acumulando, criatividade, organizae§e£o, focalizada (centrepeta) e contrativa. O lado mental positivo, dine¢mico, dentro do sistema de Freud e o Eros, o princepio do prazer, e no sistema de Jung e a personalidade consciente, o lado racional e discriminativo. Podemos dizer que pingala e a energia psicossome¡tica, aparentemente dirigida, a mente agindo sobre o corpo para motivar os orge£os da ae§e£o, os karmendriyas. Ela e a energia be¡sica da vida. Ida e a energia dentro da personalidade, o qual e passiva, receptiva, feminina, negativa, yin. A um nevel fesico, ela e escura, fria, lunar, energia de dissipae§e£o, desorganizae§e£o, entropica, expansiva (centrefuga) e relaxante. No plano mental que Freud chamou Tanatos, o instinto da morte, e Jung chamou de anima, o inconsciente, entimo feminina, emocional, sentimento intuitivo e ne£o discriminatorio, o fundo sobre o qual as diferene§as podem ser vistas e que podem ser unificadas. Este e o aspecto soma fesico do homem, onde a energia e dirigida para dentro, e o corpo age sobre a mente. Ida controla os orge£os dos sentidos, ou gyanendriyas, e, portanto, nos de¡ conhecimento e conscieªncia do mundo em que vivemos... Carl Jung expressou as viseµes te¢ntricas quando descreveu a fore§a motriz da auto-realizae§e£o, a qual chamou de 'individuae§e£o', como uma interae§e£o dialetica entre os opostos, iniciando com o conflito e culminando em sentese e integrae§e£o. Quando o equilebrio perfeito e alcane§ado, estabilizado e aperfeie§oado, um estado de paz dine¢mico e alcane§ado, que e um paradoxo, uma unie£o de opostos, a sentese de fazer e ne£o fazer, uma maneira totalmente nova de perceber e experenciar a vida. Poucos de nos realizam este terceiro estado espiritualizado, e muitos de nos oscilam de um estado a outro. A cada 90 a 180 minutos ida e pingala alternam sua posie§e£o dominante e somente por uns poucos segundos, ou minutos, sushumna entra em existeªncia possevel. e‰ a meta de todas as tecnicas de yoga balancear e equilibrar ida e pingala, fore§a da vida e conscieªncia, para que eles se unam em aje±a chakra para criar a luz interna do conhecimento e bem-aventurane§a, e revelar a verdade.