I've always felt that the place exudes a sense of saturnine melancholy.
Perhaps it's the striking contrast between the lively bloom of spring and summer and the harshness of winter, with its blues and greys. The smoke from chimneys and the lingering scent of burnt wood from the stoves fill the air.
But what captivates me is the feeling that everything is frozen in time, leaving you to wonder whether you're alive, dead, or if there's even a distinction between the two.
Umbria, known as the green heart of Italy, is a place where nature still holds sway, overshadowing attempts at modernisation.

An abandoned house in Umbria, photo taken by me in 2019.

This piece is a continuation of my first article, "The Regulus Serpent: On the Trail of a Myth Lost in Time", in which I attempted to link a unique encounter with a mysterious creature, local folklore, and the gnostic concept of the Demiurge. In this article, I will further explore the connections discovered during the Yule season of 2023, representing my esoteric analysis of the land.
I believe whatever is at play defies a definition.
Nonetheless, the place's Genius Loci is eager to convey messages, and I'm all ears.

THE ARRIVAL: FIRST FINDINGS

I arrived home on the second of July.
It was hot, and the sun shone, making the street's cement fume. Once we landed, we headed over to where we stayed, a villa from the 1700s immersed in greenery.
I could hear the cicadas and see the swallows, the crows, and the hawks battling each other to reclaim territory.
Little lizards crawled on old decaying walls.
The familiar olive trees, one of the symbols of Pan, described a perfect circle around us.
I have always known about the villa, having seen it many times to visit my grandparents but never had a chance to stay.
We settled in, left our luggage in our room, and headed to the pool. We soon discovered it inhabited by tiny toads, which we meticulously saved from drowning, one by one.
While sitting there, soaking in the hot sun, I felt that the creature was already speaking to me in its mysterious way. It was present at all times, everywhere, and permeating the atmosphere.
The villa stood in a small town where other sightings had occurred. In the years following the Second World War, older residents reported seeing a prodigious snake, described as "the size of a wine tank," near a cave.

Rumours circulated that the cave not only housed the enormous serpent but also was part of a secret system of tunnels the Nazis used to conceal weapons. Despite many attempts, including by my family, no one else reached the cave system or saw the snake. More recently, a landslide has further submerged the cave, making it nearly impossible to reach its depths.
Besides the strange encounter, the town is historically noteworthy for many other reasons. An imperial fiefdom of the Bourbon del Monte marquises since the 11th century, it maintained its independence until 1803.
As a tax-exempt zone between Tuscany and the Papal States, the area had an elective monarchy and allowed duels without fear of papal excommunication, one of three European sites where this occurred.
The themes of violence, death, and eroticism, contrasted with those of holiness and hermitism, are deeply woven into the fabric of the territory and will recur as a leitmotif. These themes link to the new Saturn of Gnostic Thelema, particularly Babalon as Rex Mundi and the snake/lion archetype.

SACRED WATER: THE SULFUR SPRINGS

In prehistoric times, the entire land was submerged underwater. If you explored the area and examined the rock walls closely, you might find ammonite fossils to take home. These primordial elements provide a backdrop for exploring further symbolic connections.
Water will play a central role in this story, reinforcing the land's link to Saturn and the corresponding sphere on the Tree of Life, Binah, the Dark Sea.

I remember the distinct smell of rotten eggs that signalled the presence of sulfuric water in the area.
I first encountered this odour as a child while riding in my parent's car.
We were travelling along a local secondary road, avoiding the motorway and enjoying the scenery of fields and hills. Even though we couldn't see or hear the spring, its presence was unmistakable.
Sulfurus waters are abundant in the region and are renowned for their sacredness and well-documented medicinal properties. Celebrated for their restorative powers, they are effective in relieving muscle and joint pain and promoting the healing of skin conditions. In ancient times, people attributed these thermal waters' therapeutic benefits to deities' presence.

Miniature from the Codex *De Balneis Puteolorum et Baiarum* by Pietro da Eboli. Rome, Angelica Library.

The area boasts a celebrated thermal centre, harnessing another powerful sulfur spring known as Fons Herculis. During Roman times, a bathhouse existed around this sulfur spring, and Roman physicians like Celsus and Galen greatly supported its health benefits. After the fall of the Roman Empire, pilgrims also began using the thermal baths in the area. Starting from the 1200s, they followed ancient Roman routes to reach Christian pilgrimage sites. The use of Fons Herculis's waters led to a steady flow of visitors, as documented in records from the early 1400s. It is no coincidence that in 1417, the physician Ugolino Caccini da Montecatini presented one of the first medical hydrology treatises in this part of Umbria.
In 1586, the physician and physicist Sebastiano Magi presented a physical-chemical analysis of the Fons Herculis waters. According to his treatise, the water's taste and smell reveal the presence of sulfur and iron, while its touch and appearance show alum particles.

Advertising poster for the Fons Herculis building, 1880.

In alchemical traditions, sulfur symbolises transformation and purification. It represents the active, fiery principle of change and is one of the three primary alchemical elements, alongside mercury and salt. In astrology, sulfur connects with the planet Saturn, embodying qualities of discipline, structure, and limitation. Saturn's influence enhances sulfur's role in personal and spiritual transformation, emphasising the need for rigorous effort and endurance in the alchemical quest for self-improvement and enlightenment.

Three-headed dragon with alchemical symbols.

Restoration work on the Fons Herculis bath shows its use continued until the early 1600s. After that, the spring's flow diminished, leading to its near-total neglect. However, an earthquake in 1789 caused the spring to flow abundantly again. This resurgence restored its fame in the late 1800s and remains well-known today. Throughout my childhood, I extensively used the spring to treat and prevent respiratory illnesses as my doctor prescribed.

The Fons Herculis spring visited by townspeople, late 1800s.

In the last decade, the region experienced minor earthquakes, leading to the emergence of new sulfur springs in certain areas. The villa's owners discovered a sulfur water source on their property and have been using a well to access the water ever since.

The park and the entrance to the building as it appears today.

These natural phenomena underscore water's deep significance in esoteric traditions. Water embodies the mystical conduit between the seen and unseen worlds. It's connected to Binah, the sephira on the Tree of Life representing understanding and the Great Mother, where form and structure emerge from the primordial chaos.

One of the springs of the acidic-martial water of the Buonriposo (Good Rest) source.

The recorded presence of prodigious snakes and sacred water, as hinted at the beginning of this paragraph, speaks volumes about the nature of the place, highlighting its closeness to Saturn and, most importantly, signalling its sacredness.

SEEKING THE SCALES

"Do you think we could return to where I saw the Regulus Serpent?" I asked my parents.
"Let's go now." They replied.
It was dusk, the same hour and ambience as when my mother and I first witnessed the marvel. The light was soft and pink, the air thick with humidity, sweat trickling down my back.
"It was here where we saw it," my mom said, pointing to a clearing by an abandoned house. We were coming back from our walk, and..."
"No, Mom, that's not how I remember it," I interjected. "We were just starting our walk when we saw it."
We could argue all we wanted. We knew we saw it there. The details didn't matter; our shared experience did.

Marco pulled out his phone. "I want to try something."
I glanced at the screen and saw him opening Randonautica, an app that generates random coordinates for exploration.
"It found a point nine minutes from here," he declared.
We walked down the dusty, unpaved street. On our right was a beautiful field of sunflowers; on our left were desolate tobacco fields.
"This part of Umbria used to be called the Death Valley, you know," my father said. "Because of the pesticides they used to spray on the tobacco. It's banned now, but it did enough damage. We know it well," he added, giving me a knowing look.
The fumes of pesticides were unbearable. I remember them well.
We reached the point Randonautica led us to. A strange noise emanated from beneath our feet: a drainage pump. We inspected it but found nothing of interest. Moving past the pump, we stepped into the tobacco field. A lone tractor worked in the distance, with a couple of people standing amidst the tobacco, tiny dots on a sheet.

We looked around.
On the dry soil, the only notable signs were human footsteps and the paw prints of a dog.
I was determined to return another day to the same spot and leave an offering; I had a burning desire to acknowledge the spirit of the place.
I came back after a week with a meat offering and milk.
At the hour of the sun, around 1:30 PM, in the sweltering heat, we headed to the crossroads— a liminal place— at the entrance of the abandoned house where the serpent first appeared.
We performed an exorcism and banishing among the foliage, with trees bearing what looked like plums. As the silence of birds and cicadas fell, I poured the entrails onto the ground and emptied the milk in a circle until the last drop. Invoking Pan, I communicated with the spirit in silence:
"Accept this offering. We know you are here; receive it and be at peace."
Rubbing our hands together, we transferred our energy to the offering. I breathed with closed eyes for a moment longer. The cicadas and birds resumed their chatter.
Days later, we returned to the site and saw our offering gone, a sign of its acceptance. As we left for the final time, a question arose. What if others in the distant past had known about the creature and fed it, but over time, people forgot about it and the sacredness of the land? Could this neglect explain the saturnine melancholy and other strange happenings? What if the spirit of the place, forsaken by its people, was now desperately feeding on anything? The thought lingered, intertwining with the stillness of the land we were leaving behind.

My depiction of the Regulus Serpent, mixed media.

THE WITCH IN THE PALACE: UNCOVERING THE STORY OF PALAZZO VITELLI

When I concluded my first article on the Regulus Serpent, I alluded to "a powerful family residing in a nearby city who adorned their palace walls with mysterious and esoteric frescoes." At that time, I vowed to revisit these locations for further investigation. This paragraph fulfils that promise.
Austere and elegant, beautifully decorated and opening into a large Italian-style garden, this is how Palazzo Vitelli appears in all its magnificence.

Situated in the southernmost part of Città di Castello, it takes its name from the family that built it in the 16th century. The Palazzo was built for the wedding of Alessandro Vitelli and Angela Paola dei Rossi of San Secondo Parmense. She was the granddaughter of Giovanni dalle Bande Nere, thus related to the great Medici family of Florence.

The frescoes of the Palazzo are attributed to Cola dell'Amatrice and Cristoforo Gherardi. The monumental staircase depicts eight Muses, inspirers of the arts; in the centre, Clio, the muse of history, rests on a medallion, sitting on a swan.

In the upper medallion is Apollo, prince of all muses and Sun God, depicted with his attributes: lyre, bow and arrow, crown of laurels, and accompanied by the three-headed monster. In the spaces to the side of the vault, we see various stories depicted, drawn from Ovid's Metamorphosis: The musical quest between Apollo and Marsyas, Apollo killing the serpent Python, Apollo punishing Midas, the musical contest between Apollo and Pan, Apollo and Daphne.

Ovid's Metamorphosis is a rich tapestry of mythological stories, all connected by the theme of transformation. On the surface, it is a collection of narratives where gods, humans, and creatures undergo physical changes, often due to divine intervention or moral consequences.
At its core, Metamorphosis explores the fluid nature of existence and the continuous cycle of change that governs both the physical and spiritual realms. The transformations depicted in the poem—whether they involve gods turning humans into animals, plants, or celestial bodies—symbolise the constant flux of life and the impermanence of the material world. This theme resonates with the ancient concept of the anima mundi, the world soul, which suggests that all life forms are interconnected and subject to the same cosmic forces.
Ovid's work subtly critiques the power dynamics between gods and mortals, revealing that even the divine is not immune to change. It suggests a universal order where all beings, regardless of their status, are subject to the same cosmic laws, emphasising the unity and equality of all existence in the grand scheme. Change connects to the Regulus Serpent, a viper that transforms into a monstrous prodigy, seeking revenge on those responsible for its transformation. It reveals the negative impact on a place's forgotten spirits, who suffer the consequences of neglect.

A dragon from the palace, very similar to the Regulus Serpent.

After the triumph of glory and fame, the decoration on the third landing leads us to the victory of love. In the three lunettes, we see the domination of women over men in love, who, in this state, lose strength, wisdom and knowledge, remaining captive to the power of their beloved. The woman thus becomes an example of defence, guile and intelligence. In the lunettes, we can see the following portrayals: Hercules, a symbol of strength, here depicted nude, is convinced by Omphale to do women's work, such as spinning wool;

Aristotle, a symbol of knowledge, is ridden by the courtesan Phyllis with whom he had fallen hopelessly in love;

Solomon, celebrated for his wisdom, becomes convinced by his Edomite wife to kneel and pray to the pagan god Neptune.

These depictions hint at the figure of Angela Paola, the mistress of the palace, and reflect her temperament. Ruthless, tyrannical and vindictive, she succeeded in dominating the political events of the town. In no way God-fearing, she was used to making the objects she desired her own, usurping them from the Church. Once, she pushed Bishop Filidori down the stairs of her Palazzo, guilty of admonishing her terrible behaviour, arrogance, and abuse of power.
An inscription on the palace wall boldly declares her name, yet notably omits her husband's name, serving as a powerful testament to her uncompromising yet questionable character:" Paula Parmensis suo cum conjuge, quieti propriae et parentum, erexerunt ne nominis et virtutis memoria pereat."
"Paola di Parma with her husband, for her tranquillity and that of her parents, erected [this palace] so that the memory of the name and the valour does not fade."

Rumours still circulated in the city, claiming she was a witch and was seen leaving the palace at night wearing a black cloak and collecting blood offerings.
Angela Paola intertwines with another famous legend of the town. Palazzo Vitelli has long had a connection to the tale of Sora Laura, a spirit said to wander restlessly through the palace's rooms on full moon nights. Laura, a mysterious and beautiful woman with long raven hair, once lived in the palace. Lonely and unhappy, she spent her time embroidering handkerchiefs. From her window, she would watch for handsome young men and, filled with desire, drop a handkerchief in hopes of catching their attention. Captivated by her beauty, the men would pick up the handkerchief and enter the palace. Consumed by passion, they would spend the night with the mysterious lady, only to exit through a hidden door—a trap that led to their deaths. Some believe this captivating woman was Angela Paola, who, tired of her husband's prolonged absences, sought comfort in the company of other men. As a result, the males living in the city began to avoid passing under the palace vault on full moon nights, fearing they would fall victim to Sora Laura, a symbol of love and death.

The frescoes in the steam bath of the palace, also known as the Bagno-Stufa, depict erotic and violent themes. They tell stories of the love of the gods related to water myths. One of the frescoes shows Leda, the beautiful queen of Sparta, having intercourse with Jupiter, the King of the Gods, who transforms into a swan to be with her. The scene is highly explicit, with the swan positioned between Leda's legs while pecking at her breast. It is interesting to note that the swan is one of Angela Paola's symbols. We have seen it before in the depiction of the muses.

The scene between Diana and Actaeon is sensual yet less explicit. It portrays the moment when Actaeon mistakenly spies on the goddess and her naked nymphs during their intimate bath. As punishment, he is transformed into a stag and, now unrecognisable, is tragically torn apart by his hounds.

Neptune sits enthroned in the heart of the vault, holding a trident in hand. The god of the sea rides his chariot, drawn by seahorses emerging from tumultuous waves stirred by the winds blowing above.
The frescoes abound with imagery of water and sea deities. In addition to this central scene, many other parts of the Palazzo highlight the grandeur of the sea.

Adjacent to such a licentious space is the room that once served as a chapel. The sacred and the profane exist side by side, reflecting the many instances throughout this house's history where these contrasts have coexisted.
In the final section of the monumental staircase, the seven planets silently observe us. Within hexagonal panels, planetary deities are depicted alongside the zodiac signs they govern.

On the left, Jupiter appears with Sagittarius and Pisces; Mars with Aries and Scorpio; the Sun, portrayed as Apollo, with Leo; Venus, gazing at Cupid, with Libra and Taurus; and Mercury with Gemini and Virgo. Diana, as the Moon, accompanies Cancer.

Above them all is the focal point—Saturn, the god of time, wielding a scythe and devouring his son. A winged serpent, biting its tail, coils around Saturn's leg, symbolising the relentless passage of time. To his sides are Capricorn and Aquarius.

THE BLACK MADONNA AND THE DRAGON'S RIB

As we left the Palazzo, I noticed how the city seemed trapped in a constant state of neglect. The Palace garden, though still showing hints of its past beauty, was overgrown with grass and dead leaves. The once neatly trimmed bushes had lost their shape.
We walked toward the main square, and on my left, I recognised a familiar place—the hospital where I was born. It was a beautiful stone building, now in complete disrepair, with old medical equipment lying inside, dusty and forgotten.
After a short walk, we passed the cinema where I used to go as a kid. It had been closed for years, with things left inside as if abandoned in a hurry. Across from it stood an old mansion with pink walls, arches, and statues, now overtaken by vegetation.
It was just one example of many in the city. Time had worn it down, both in the distant past and more recently.

As we strolled through the streets, the hot cobblestones beneath our feet, I couldn't stop thinking about the image of Saturn, the Lord of Time, that dominated the Vitelli Palace, and how its invisible presence now seemed to linger in the quiet, half-abandoned city centre.
What if the rumours were true, and Angela Paola, a witch of whispered legend, had indeed struck a contract with the spirit of the place—a pact that was never fulfilled? The overgrown gardens, the crumbling hospital, the abandoned cinema—all could be remnants of a deal gone wrong, where the spirit, scorned and forgotten, slowly reclaimed what was once promised to it.

Reflecting on this and the many other unanswered questions, I felt a sense of trepidation.
It was time to encounter another entity, one I had anticipated meeting for a long time—a different Saturn, yet one more closely tied to the Babalon and Nuit of Thelema: the Black Madonna.
I had always known that hidden in the crypts of the main cathedral was a Black Madonna, as I had seen her once as a child—the Madonna Nera di Loreto.
We entered the cathedral, a blend of styles—Romanesque on the outside and Baroque within. An almost hidden plaque pointed the way to the crypts.
"Jessie, it's here!" I heard my mom whisper, her voice barely audible as she indicated the stairs leading down to the statue.
We descended, inhaling the crypt's humid yet refreshing and slightly pungent air. Our eyes darted left and right, searching, when suddenly, illuminated by one of the few open windows, stood the statue of the Black Madonna of Loreto on my right. She smiled at us as if she had been waiting for our arrival. The Black Madonna cradled a child, a reflection of herself, in her arms. She held the cosmic egg and wore two necklaces, one with a pendant shaped like an almond.

The Black Madonna is a mysterious and venerated figure in Christian iconography, depicted as a dark-skinned Virgin Mary and Child. These images, found throughout Europe and other parts of the world, have origins that intertwine with both pagan and Christian traditions. The dark complexion of the Black Madonna has been interpreted in various ways: as a representation of the earth, fertility, and the ancient mother goddesses of pre-Christian religions. Some scholars suggest that these images emerged from a syncretism between Christian beliefs and earlier indigenous worship of female deities like Isis or Cybele, who were often associated with blackness, both literal and symbolic, representing the fertile, mysterious, and life-giving aspects of the earth.

In the esoteric tradition of Thelema, founded by Aleister Crowley, the figure of Babalon holds a profound and enigmatic role, deeply intertwined with the archetypal symbolism of the initiatrix.
Babalon, often depicted as a figure of liberated sexuality and divine feminine power, is the true initiatrix of Thelema. Babalon's connection to the Black Madonna reveals her as a guide through the mysteries of life and death. Her essence is the blackness of the cave, the darkness of the womb, where the deepest spiritual initiation occurs. Babalon is also known as the Daughter of Fortitude. This title originates from the mystical writings associated with the Enochian system of magic, which John Dee and Edward Kelley developed in the late 16th century.
She is both the daughter and the embodiment of a cosmic strength transcending the human condition. Her initiation is not easy; it requires the courage to surrender and let go of the ego.

The Whore of Babylon, William Blake, 1809.

I knelt before the statue, resting on the wooden kneeler at its feet. I breathed deeply, closing my eyes. Somehow, it felt different from the last time I saw it, but time warps memories, as does the touch of the numinous. As I stood up, my parents eagerly pointed to another artefact.

"Take a look, here, here!" they urged. Frowning, I walked toward the object they were so excited about. As I turned to see it, I understood their enthusiasm. Before me stretched a massive bone, spanning the entire wall— clearly not from any creature of our time.

In total disbelief, I looked at the plaque just above the immense bone:"
Bone remains of a prehistoric unknown animal that lived in the Apennine region of the Upper Tiber Valley have been preserved since time immemorial. Here, Roman soldier Saint Crescenziano was martyred along with his platoon during Emperor Diocletian's persecution around 303 A.D. for slaying the Dragon, a symbol of paganism, and proclaiming the Christian Faith.

Thoughts swirled in my mind—could this be the remains of the very first prodigious serpent, a dragon from a time when spirits walked the earth? Or was my imagination running wild, searching for meaning in every detail? I was caught between excitement and disbelief, utterly speechless.

"If you don't leave now, you'll be locked inside the crypts!"
A man—perhaps the cathedral guardian—looked at me with a mix of seriousness and amusement. The church was preparing for the Madonna's procession the following week and was closing early.
"Oh, yes! Sorry..." I responded hurriedly. The man escorted us to the main exit and shut the ancient wooden doors behind him. I was met with a blast of hot, humid air, a sharp contrast to the cool, refreshing atmosphere of the crypts.

“Who's ready to eat?" my dad asked joyfully.

THE DEPARTURE

I triple-checked our room for anything I might have left behind.
"If you did forget something, I'll just knock on your parents' door," the villa owner said with a smile.
"You shall see us again," I replied, smiling back.
It was time to leave. We packed our things into my parents' car and headed to the airport.
As we drove away from the dusty, unpaved street, the trees seemed to wave us farewell. I gazed at the hills surrounding us, reflecting on the past few weeks.
The Regulus serpent remains a mystery in the tapestry of my life. Our life trajectories are inextricably linked to the lands that host us. What I uncovered—the history, the rumours, the half-fictional stories—reminded me that spirits still roam the earth, present in the lands we inhabit. Thus, creating new stories and myths is vital to honour and feed them and recognise them as our peers, protectors, and guides.

You just need the eyes to see.

Where Saturn Dwells: The Witch, The Serpent, The Black Madonna and the Sacred Sulfur Springs