The face you meet the world with stands at one end of the axis, and by the same geometry the South Node, the ground you come from, sits at your back as you arrive. Your North Node, the growth end of the lunar nodes, that calculated directional axis and never a planet, faces your rising horizon from across the room. Each pole names what the other lacks: your habitual greeting reels you back toward the known, while the direction of growth calls from the far shore. Some days you arrive as the self you have always shown and lose the step that asked you to stretch. The mirror asks you to make the old manner of greeting people a runway for the new heading, not a chair you sink into.