Lamat, the star, is eighth of the twenty, following Manik' the deer: what the hand made will next be seen and draw people. Lamat is Venus — the brightest thing before dawn — and the Maya tracked Venus to within a day, tying it to the timing of war and harvest. Its glyph is four dots around a centre, and it also reads as rabbit (fertility) and ripe maize field.
So Lamat's mechanism is multiplication and gathering: things around you increase — friends, chances, possessions, trouble included. Its power is attraction: you needn't try hard for people to come; its difficulty is attraction too: everything comes, and telling what to keep is hard.
Where you'll recognise it: liked, a crowd around you, no shortage of chances and often too many, a natural preference for beauty and plenty, a slight resistance to being alone. Running well, you're the one who brings abundance: things grow around you, you share the good, rooms improve because you're in them. Stuck, the plenty drowns you — accepting everything, keeping everything, quantity mistaken for worth. In the sequence Lamat is followed by Muluk, water: once the star has gathered its fill, feeling rises to the brim. Your next step isn't a little more. It's choosing before it's full.
