A woodpecker strikes a tree at a speed that would split any other skull, and yet its head is built, bone and angle, to take that many impacts a minute without ever cracking. You were born with the Moon in Gemini, and you're built the same way. You don't process a feeling by holding still with it. You process it by talking it, by naming the thing the moment it arrives, by telling it to three different people to hear which version finally holds. Mercury, which rules your Moon here, doesn't soothe you with silence. It soothes you with the question that pries open what was sealed, with the conversation that lets the pressure out. What others read as scattering is, in you, the nervous system digesting, breaking the impact into pieces small enough to swallow. It isn't that you feel less. It's that you need to put it into words before it goes down. The trap isn't emotional frivolity, the way they simplify. It's mistaking having named a feeling for having lived through it, staying in the commentary about what happened and never quite stepping into the body where it happened. Sometimes silence is also a way of eating. So set aside a stretch now and then where you explain nothing at all. See which feeling shows up once you stop translating it in real time.