yin · yin — tetragrams 37–45 — 2 June to 12 July
The year answers itself, and stops climbing.
Both fixed lines are broken once. This is the mirror of the first province, and its opposite in every way that matters: there, everything hidden; here, everything shown. Nothing in this province is obscure. The difficulty is not seeing — it is that being seen entirely is also the moment a thing stops growing.
At the heart of it stands the summer solstice, at The Answer, the forty-first of eighty-one and the exact center of the book. Before it the breath is even and unmixed, clear and bright; things double their light; abundance stops up every space and is packed out to the edge of what it wanted; the yang stands like a city wall so that everything has somewhere to live, and hangs its law up high where nothing escapes the marking-line. Then the yang reaches its limit above, the yin sprouts below, and upper and lower answer each other. From there the province is met, encountered, tempered: the yin takes shape and things turn upstream toward it; going and coming meet on the road; the yin wets and the yang holds and brings to harmony. It closes with the yin empty within and the yang swelling round it, all things like a lid on a bowl.
Nothing in this province acts alone, and a reading taken here is never about you by yourself. It is about a response — what came back, what met you on the road, what you are the answer to. If you came asking what to do, turn the question over: you are being told what you are already replying to, and whether the reply fits. Brightness is the gift of this province and its trap; when everything is visible there is nothing left to discover, and a matter that can be seen entire has finished. Take the clarity. Do not take it as permission to keep climbing. Past the middle figure the road runs the other way, and it began running the other way at the moment things looked best.