An old bruise and the spot where your life sits easiest share one degree, welded like two coins dropped together into a forge. Chiron, the limping centaur whose own hurt taught it everything it knows, fuses with your Part of Fortune, the ease-point your chart figures from rising sign, Sun, and Moon by sect. The place that aches and the place that flows turn out to be the same square of floor. You feel most like yourself where you have already bled a little. No prize is waiting to drop in your lap here. Just the odd relief of setting your weight down right on the scar and finding it holds.
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