Still in Cancer's first decan, ruled by Venus in the Chaldean face sequence, and still inside the sign's opening term where the Egyptian bounds hold the degree under Mars rather than under the Moon that actually rules the sign. The image is a man airborne on a carpet that owes nothing to any engine, suspended above a wide stretch of country he can take in all at once because he is no longer standing inside it. Height, in this reading, is not escape but perspective, the ordinary view traded for one that holds the whole field at a glance.
Jones and Wheeler produced the raw scene in their single 1925 sitting in Balboa Park, one of 360 cards drawn blind from a shuffled stack; the interpretation now attached to it is Rudhyar's from 1973, and its emphasis, characteristically his rather than Wheeler's, falls on the quality of the vantage rather than on the marvel of the flight. The obvious shadow is a vantage bought at the price of contact, the carpet rider who can describe the whole landscape precisely because he has left it, hovering rather than living in any one part of it. Cancer is a sign built around the intimate and the immediate, home, family, the felt life close at hand, so a symbol asking it to trade nearness for altitude sits a little against the sign's own grain, which may be exactly the point of placing it this early in the sign rather than later.