You set your face toward the road ahead and the wild self lunges crosswise, heading and untamed part grinding at a hard angle. Lilith, the Black Moon at the lunar apogee, the exiled self, crosses the north node, the lunar point of the direction you grow toward, at a right angle. The pull to advance keeps clashing with the part that bolts from any leash, even one labeled growth. You know this struggle: dragging your wildness toward a future it snarls at. That friction is no flaw in the path. Leaned into, the strain files the way forward into something fierce, so any ground you gain is cut against exactly this resistance, raw and yours.