The wild self glares from one wall while the road you grow toward stares back from the far end of the room, the two pinned to one long beam. Lilith, the Black Moon at the lunar apogee, the exiled self past the fence, faces the north node, the lunar point of the direction you reach for, across the axis. The part that bolts from any leash keeps eyeing the path that asks you to commit and stretch. Lean toward the heading and the snarl yanks your gaze back across the gap. You move honestly only by keeping the wildness and the way forward turned toward each other, neither the untamed self shouting down the road nor the road filing the snarl smooth.