‘What is bred in the bones, comes out in the flesh.’

Saturn is the skeleton, the knees, the skin. A fundamental framework and that which drapes it, telling some semblance of order and decoration of the vessel reflecting this.

Saturn is the effort itself, but less the swinging of the blade and more the stone it’s sharpened against.

Saturn is both the richness of our senses, and a deafness through which the most resounding truths still penetrate.

Capricorn is a commencement and ending, the wintry and empty lungs after autumn pours out its exhalation.

The Queen’s gaze turns outward as she surveys the land, taking stock of what is, the products of our toil and effort, a karmic reckoning.

Saturn in Capricorn is the suchness of inner vision made real, made body.

It is what we've earned thus far.