Charubel's image for the middle degree of Libra is deliberately unbeautiful: a fat pig lying down. In a sign of gardens, violins and lovers' knots the pig arrives as a correction, and interpreting it honestly means letting it be exactly what it is, appetite satisfied, comfort achieved, a creature that has eaten well lying at ease with no further ambitions whatever. The picture can be read as contentment's portrait, and there is real wisdom in it: the pig is not anxious, not performing, not weighing alternatives, and its repose rebukes a sign that can starve amid options.
Satisfaction, the image says, is an actual state, reachable, bodily, and unglamorous, and some of what Libra endlessly deliberates about is available immediately to whoever will simply accept enough. But the fatness is specified, and so is the lying down, and the second reading follows: ease past its purpose, comfort become the whole of life, the settled bulk that will not rise again for anything less than the trough. Between the two readings sits the degree's question, which is Libra's own dressed in sty clothing, where is the balance point of appetite, the mean between the ascetic's scale and the glutton's. The pig, note, has no opinion; that is its peace and its limit. On a natal Venus, Moon or second house point this degree tends to mark strong appetites for comfort and a real talent for rest, and its counsel keeps both truths: learn the pig's untroubled enjoyment, and get up while getting up is still easy.