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Space is infinite, it is dark Space is neutral, it is cold Stars occupy minute areas of space They are clustered a few billion here And a few billion there As if seeking consolation in numbers Space does not care, space does not threaten Space does not comfort It does not speak, it does not wake It does not dream It does not know, it does not fear It does not love, it does not hate It does not encourage any of these qualities Space cannot be measured, it cannot be angered, it cannot be placated It cannot be summed up, space is there Space is not large and it is not small It does not live and it does not die It does not offer truth and neither does it lie Space is a remorseless, senseless, impersonal fact Space is the absence of time and of matter.
A civilisation is a struggle to keep self-control, and in this it is like some great tragic person, some Niobe who must display an almost superhuman will or the cry will not touch our sympathy. The loss of control over thought comes towards the end; first a sinking in upon the moral being, then the last surrender, the irrational cry, revelation—the scream of Juno’s peacock.
-W.B. Yeats, "A Vision".Solar and Lunar. A universe composed of dichotomy upon dichotomy, worlds of contradictory opposites. Existence divided into innumerable hemispheres. An inexorable dualism of all things. Emergent is the ultimate symmetry, an unfathomably intricate arc limitless on one plane of existence but finite on the other.
The impending upheaval; coalescence of mythologies and prophecies of this millenium. Everything shall simultaneously turn on its axis and time will continue unfolding with no restrictions or boundaries. The gyres of history will continue to revolve and a circle shall remain a circle: inviolable as it always was and always will be.
Humankind and its civilisation represent a mote of dust suspended in this vast yawning abyss of voided substance. At the pivotal instant of equilibrium when the new cycle begins and the old one ends utter reality will be loosed upon living things and they shall know its horror in that moment. The everpresent duality that surrounds them all will become terrifyingly apparent and the belated conclusion will be figured.
This is true Mathematics; the spanless geometry of all matter which is itself encircled by the coil of self-digesting time. Everything perceived by the living is finite: it has a birth and a death. Time is not subject to such schematics, and therefore the living are subject to its motions. Its gradual, universe-twisting gyrations.
The gyres! the gyres! Old Rocky Face, look forth;
Things thought too long can be no longer thought,
For beauty dies of beauty, worth of worth,
And ancient lineaments are blotted out.
Irrational streams of blood are staining earth;
Empedocles has thrown all things about;
Hector is dead and there’s a light in Troy;
We that look on but laugh in tragic joy.
Dove and Swan. Being and Non-Being. Solar and Lunar.
