Your way of planting yourself in the doorway and the powder you pack inside face off from opposite ends of the axis. Mars, the fist that closes and charges, stands across from the threshold where you appear to others in your chart. Arrive calm and something combative pulls from the far side, itching for a fight. Come in with an edge and the first skin demands restraint. The two ends call each other to account every time you show up, and the person facing you usually catches the shock before you notice your hand swung. You live in the strain between how you present and the force shoving from behind, learning not to start a war at every sill you cross.