Wet

I am a Pisces.  I am a dreamer, an intuitive and sensitive being, who is drawn to the water.

Let me be clear: I don't subscribe to all of the pseudo scientific bits that swirl within spirituality.  I don't read my horoscope to see what kind of day I'm having, or what I'm supposed to feel when the planets are going about their business, orbiting and atrophying.

But there is absolutely something about the water that feeds all that's best in me.  I'm particularly drawn to the ocean when I am sad or need perspective.  Standing on one of the beautiful beaches near where we live, I give myself back to the sea.  When I am exhausted from grief, and have no tears left, the salty breeze that brushes my cheeks gives me comfort.  

My son is also a Pisces.  I have told him that his comfort will always be found in the water: diving into it; moving his growing body through it; mastering it atop a surfboard; jumping through the ocean's waves; stroking across the smooth surface of a lake.  In a pinch, standing in the rain or even taking a shower will help stave off whatever is unsettling him.  "I just need to get to the water" has become a sort of code in our house for "I'm out of sorts and I can't figure out why."  

Three years ago Superstorm Sandy brought the ocean to our door, through our windows, and six feet up our walls, leaving us bruised, empty and angry.  It has taken time to forgive the ocean for what it took from us and allow it to comfort me again.  

I take my share back shell by shell on each visit.  I carry sand from one beach to another in the pockets of my winter coat.  My son makes angels in the sand and writes "I love you Daddy" with hearts just beyond the reach of the waves.  

We stand together at the edge of the water and are renewed.