My Mercury is in Pisces, ruled by Neptune. Mercury is the mind, the communication, the metaphorical Voice. Neptune obscures, some say it lies, but they’re pretty lies, lies the teller believes even if only for the moment. When I talk, I must not know what I sound like as I’m always surprised to hear my own recorded voice. I sound like a stranger, or my mother, and I try not to think about which bothers me more.
Symbolism is neptunian. I tend to understand things best by analogy; I tend to speak in metaphor. When I’m in trouble I communicate in poetry. I have a friend who calls me any time I post a Dorothy Parker quote: “Oh my GOD… what’s wrong?” A few days ago I posted the lyrics to a Paul Simon song and I got three messages from friends: “are you okay??” And as quickly as the tide goes out it comes back in. Today I’m right as rain and most people never saw the difference, which is just as well. Pisces Mercury usually doesn’t want to worry anyone, except when they do.
Neptune blends; I’m a mimic. In junior high I was friends with the Mexican exchange student and she would get so mad at me as she thought I was making fun of her accent when I parroted it back to her. I was several times reduced to tears in my efforts to make her understand I couldn’t help it, but I was unsuccessful.
I just finished a beautiful book, The Help, by Kathryn Stockett. I keep wanting to say it’s Sprocket ’cause that’s how my mind works. In fact, I’m often grasping for words or the answer to a question I KNOW if forced to spit it out now, now, now. I’ve been known to call people up hours after a conversation… “ROQUEFORT!” because I’ve remembered whatever it was. Anyway, I loved that book (Pisces Mercury can be very quiet but it can also ramble). Much of it was written in the voice of southern maids at the time of the civil rights movement. So for now, much of what goes on in my head is in that voice as well.
My cat bumps my leg in a bid for attention. I look down from my writing and rub her head, “don’t you go eatin’ no more a them baby birds… they nice!” I stop and she stares at my feet in an angry vehemence usually reserved for her empty food bowl.
Where’s your Mercury? Is it rational? How do you think and communicate?