At one end of the axis Neptune longs to merge and idealize, to let the edges go soft. At the other the lunar apogee holds the desire that will not be cleaned up. They face off across the gap, and neither holds without the other pushing back: your wish to dissolve stares straight at the appetite you were told to bury, and the untamed hunger bristles against your dream of something flawless. Some days you float above your own wanting and call it spirituality. Other days the exiled desire pierces the dream clean through. Your imagination matures not by purifying the hunger away, but by holding it across from the part of you that wants to lose itself.
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