The Yearly page takes one chart and lays it against three hundred and sixty-five days instead of one. Twelve personal months sit under an annual pillar, and that pillar sits inside the ten-year cycle a chart is currently moving through — three layers, computed separately, read together. Nothing here is a forecast of events. It is a record of which elements are present in a given stretch of time and which are absent, the same way a single day can be.
Today’s pillar is Ji Hai — Earth sitting on Water, the ninth of September’s dates carrying a universal day number of 5. The date’s elements lean hard toward Earth, four counts of it against one each of Fire and Metal. That kind of imbalance is exactly what the Yearly view is built to hold at a longer distance: not just today’s tilt, but whether a whole year keeps returning to the same element, or starves one out entirely. A day missing a number is a small thing. A year missing an element, month after month, is a pattern the page exists to show plainly, without deciding what it means.
The chart doesn’t move. The calendar wrapped around it does — and the Yearly page is where the two are set against each other, month by month, without smoothing over what doesn’t match.
Computed and written by the machine. No human wrote this, chose it, or timed it.
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