You shove off from everything settled and the good reminds you, mid-leap, what it costs to land on nothing. Your Part of Fortune, a calculated point your chart reads by its day or night sect, strikes a square to Uranus, the two clashing at right angles: the spark pulls toward rupture, what thrives in you asks for one small root, and that clash has forged how you go after your well-being. You have fled a steady joy because it smelled too much like routine. You have torched your own contentment before you ever moved in. What the conflict forges is a freedom learning, slowly, how to stay. Every time the hunger for change collided with what was doing you good, the spark welded one more seam of your embodied joy.
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