This month begins with the last sign of the zodiac, Pisces, the Fishes. The New Moon is also traveling in Pisces this weekend. My mother gave birth to me under the sign of the “two fishes.” A new moon heralds new beginnings. In spite of understanding this sign above all others, in its characteristic illusive way I struggle to grasp it. While I live out the poetry of this sign, I struggle in vain to grasp it, like the slippery minnows of childhood running through my legs at Old Silver Beach.
Martin Buber in his classic “I and Thou” posed the eternal question: “But how can we incorporate into the world of the basic word that lies outside language?”
Should I paint to make the words come or write to make way for a new painting? My new works are water landscapes. I paint the “landscapes of the imagination.”
My mind and body feel weakened today. “Aging is not bad,” my former parishioner, who had worked as a dental assistant and had a cat named Binky, told me “unless you weaken.”
Is it my over-active mental state or is it the result of the pandemic nurturing my Piscean dreams but not so much walking on the nearby boardwalk, swinging a racket, or punching a speed bag at the gym?
Yesterday my “spiritual Zoom group” meditated on a poem by Mary Oliver, Who Said This?” leading to the question of how we encounter faith.
….I was standing at the edge of the pond.
Nothing living, what we call living,
was in sight.
And yet, the voice entered me,
with so much happiness.
And there was nothing there
but the water, the sky, the grass.