No sooner had the Moon expressed his internal grumble about the satisfaction-deficit of excess humility, than the clouds which had muffled his course for a week peeled completely from the early morning sky, the surf thundered encouragement, a great eagle soared up to accompany him, and his face blazed once more a youthful recognition of the world’s glory.

You make a fundamental mistake if you look at the Moon and see only a reflection of the Sun. Do still look, lest you never journey beyond your opinions, and one day you may see, not a rock enmeshed in our spacetime, not a being of indeterminate age and gender shuffling away, but your own reflection earnestly ablaze with one question, what ought I be about?

In The Sickness Unto Death, Kierkegaard identifies a state of existence you might recognize, the state of being without purpose, of being in despair. Is the Moon in despair? Is he ignorant of eternity, celebrating regularity, dedicated to escape?

Of all the resonances, polarities and affinities proffered by astrology to serve as keys to the infinite, some but not all useless to unlock Southern Hemisphere shutters, I suggest you pay attention to the Nodes and to Lilith. In them you will find the Moon trying to follow his calling.

The Moon, just like us, is a tiny entity in the scheme of things, swept off his feet by the gigantic power of the Sun, but of two compliments he is deserving, just like you: firstly, he never ceases to steer himself, even though the current be overpowering; and secondly, just look around, untold physical reactions pay homage to him here on Earth.

He epitomises the activity of relating finite and infinite, of not just being conscious of the freedom he has in the system he cannot resist, but realizing himself in the doing of it.

I hope in trying not to describe or explain too much I do not succeed only in mystifying the anthropic links drawn in my horoscopes between the ever-changing locations of the Moon, the Node he most recently passed, and the Apogee where in the instant he focusses on his folly and our fault.

They are the Moon’s instincts…