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Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing. Macbeth, V. v.
 

At last, what difference does it make if Sun and Moon swap signs? If the Constellations of the ancient Zodiac retrieve their mythical identities from the precession of the seasons which we have destroyed anyway? If grief or anger will hold sway tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow? If it’s all confirmation bias and could not possibly be influenced by solar system orientation to the stars when that’s all relative, and every celestial body’s view of every other’s background is strikingly different? If the only thing you can say for certain is that you’re opposite on the Zodiac to whomever you’re looking at, and they signify nothing?

Is there a place to be other than at the centre of attention? Or, rephrased, why should you be the only one who doesn’t exist?

I could never resist one last question. Cheers, Zealot, nice to catch up, even if it does seem only once in a blue moon. You probably get this all the time?