In the ocean of every Pisces, there swim two fish: one to climb up toward the heavens and one to map the world’s depths, one ruled by dreamy Neptune and the other by searching Jupiter. They swim and seek and, after their long journeys, they meet in the middle - eager to feed on the vibrant reef of the heart. It is there that they rest and couple and create. It is from there that they write.
Their words have the ability to build like waves, their pens the pointed power to drown. At best they look like John Lewis or John Steinbeck. At worst, much like L. Ron Hubbard or Bret Easton Ellis. Pisces are boundless in feeling, the old souls of the zodiac - the devoted, the demanding, the watery.
They are Carson McCullers, Ralph Ellison, Kōbō Abe, and Amy Tan. They are David Foster Wallace’s endless pages of despair, just as they are Edward Gorey’s enigmatic illustrations. They are Anaïs Nin’s secret, simultaneous husbands and Lawrence Durrell’s lament - “Who invented the human heart, I wonder?” They are always, always, looking for love.
Sarah J. Bofenkamp is a reader, writer, and librarian living in Palouse, Washington.