A lamp still burns in a room you are walking out of, warm and steady, lit by a hand that has trimmed its wick for years. The south node is not a body in the sky but the familiar ground you come from, here the old self you have always shone as, an identity worn smooth by long use. The Sun leaves a soft gap onto that ground, a door to release the part of who-you-were that no longer fits the room ahead. Draw on that core warmth when you genuinely need it, then let the outgrown role dim. Turn the lamp low as you step out. The release is there for you, taken up only on the day you choose to let the old version rest.