Mercury in Pisces

As a child, I repeated myself a lot. “I want grilled cheese for dinner,” I’d inform my mom. “I want grilled cheese for dinner. I want grilled cheese for dinner…” I’d echo to myself twice more, hardly aware that my words were creating sounds, or that my mom could hear me over the rumbling of the dishwasher. “Why are you doing that?” She’d ask. “I don’t know,” I’d reply. In preschool, I didn’t know how to say the word, “computer,” opting for the more complicated, “perkapurter.” When the teacher couldn’t understand my pronunciation of my misguided vocabulary, I felt confused. Now, at twenty-five, I’m less confused than the kindergartner in speech class. But confusion has been replaced by something else…a lingering sense of incompetence.

​Through studying astrology, I’ve discovered a few things: I’m not alone in this, we all have different ways of expressing our ideas, and precise articulation is meaningless without an open mind. Yet, it often feels like I’m alone. It’s hard to describe what occurs when these five-year-old feelings emerge out of a harmless question from a coworker. It’s as though everyone else has been rehearsing their lines for weeks, and I’m jumping in on opening night. Ironically, this is a nightmare I have quite often. My clenched jaw is indicative of my anxiety, but also my resistance to speak any words at all. Perhaps those with this placement spend so much time in their heads, because it’s the safest environment for their picture-like thoughts.

Science class was like a foreign language. The idea of photosynthesis proved incomprehensible until my mom discovered a technique compatible with my mercury—illustrating the ideas into drawings. Photosynthesis was no longer a scientific process; it was a story. Each character had their motivation and a clear relationship with one another. At last, I could understand what the other students understood from our first popcorn reading. “Were you listening when Mrs. Broader went over this in class?” My mom asked. “I thought I was…” I whispered. I wasn’t. I intended to, of course, but the generation of oxygen was far less interesting than my strategy for next week’s Bye Bye Birdie auditions. When the bell shook me out of my fantasy and plopped me in reality, I felt disappointed in myself. Beyond that, I felt as though I couldn’t help it. My mind had betrayed me, but boy did third period fly by.

In a perfect world, I would lie in bed from dawn to dusk with nothing but the company of my imagination. As a writer and astrologer, I hope to achieve that luxury one day. Creativity has nearly healed the insecure student in me, showing that intelligence can take on a variety of forms. But when confronted with the obligation to articulate myself in daily life, I still experience a kind of fear. It certainly doesn’t help that I’m an Aquarius; I doubt myself more frequently than I drink water. And like Pisces, I hesitate to separate myself too distinctly. I don’t just know, but I feel how we are all connected. Speaking from the point of view of my own individuality feels like a decision to abandon my school of fish, opting to swim against the tide and against the laws of nature. This is a lot, I know. And perhaps I’ve spent one too many nights falling asleep to the voice of Alan Watts…

​Simply put, I feel how deeply our words affect others. I have felt it firsthand. Perhaps I am wounded, and perhaps the issue for me is more complex. But I tend to think Pisces, as a sign, feels wounded as well. The truth is, we’re all sensitive beings and there’s no harm in treating each other as such. There’s no harm in talking in circles if that’s what it takes to discover your point. It’s better to say the wrong thing and realize it, than to cling to your beliefs with such confidence that it blinds you like driving into the sun during golden hour. I won’t neglect to mention that Pisces possess a propensity toward delusion (emotions always run the risk of delusion). However, they are not close-minded. To think like a Pisces, is to think with the fluidity of the ocean, with its constant ebb and flow, seizing new pebbles with each wave that contacts the earth; and in turn, creating the sand that form our beaches. It’s unpredictable, but it’s creativity at its finest.