Tidal Pull

The tides in Puerto Peñasco, Sonora are some of the most drastic in the world. Low cliffs that in the early morning look out over pebbled coves become perfect diving spots, safe to jump from by lunch. Differing by 20 feet on some days, the rising water at high tide laps up entire rock formations, erasing concrete paths and even stairways that lead into the sea.

In my dreams though, the tides are much higher.

Standing on the edge of the rocky coast, I watch as hundred-foot waves come barreling toward the shore, swallowing up entire neighborhoods. The water rushes in, carrying with it an array of creatures that take up residence in the houses, swimming through open doors and windows. I’m never afraid in these dreams. Sometimes I climb up on the rocks and watch the water rise. Other times, I swim through the flooded streets, taking in the marine life that surrounds me. When I wake, I spend the entire day thinking of the sea.

These dreams have been part of my life for as long as I can remember and hardly a month goes by where my sleep isn’t interspersed with these visions of gargantuan tides. The ocean has always called to me, as have rivers and lakes and reservoirs. I love the water in all its forms and spend as much time as I can around whatever body of it I can find. Taken away from it too long, I begin to feel an incessant tug, a sort of low, aching pull to come back to the water. Since before I can even remember, water has always beckoned me.

Even as a toddler, my parents had to keep a watchful eye on me. While visiting a waterfall I once took off at a run--my startled mother chasing behind me--as I desperately attempted to fling myself over the edge of the overlook into the churning river below. Whether at the beach or the pool, as soon as water was in my sights, I would make a mad dash toward it and hurl myself in without any regard for caution or self-preservation.

In short, I have always loved water and felt connected to it, long before I knew anything of zodiac signs or astrology. Now, it seems fitting that I should have so much water in my chart. In fact, these signs make up the majority of my placements. Despite what some may feel about astrology, in my mind, there’s no way I could be anything but a Pisces.

Symbolized by two fish and one of the three water signs of the zodiac, “Pisces” has always described me perfectly. When I first learned about my sun sign and what it represented, I remember thinking to myself “Well that explains a lot.” After all, fish belong in water, don’t they? And that’s certainly where I’ve always felt I belonged.

While some people feel little or no connection to their major astrological placements, I have never for a second doubted that I’m a Pisces, tried and true. Associated with creativity, emotions, romanticism, and psychic ability, Pisces are often artists or work in fields related to helping people or animals. As a five-year animal shelter volunteer who runs two Etsy shops, writes poetry, and works part-time as a tea leaf reader, I have always felt that much of my identity has lined up with what being a Pisces entails. Water though, I feel, is still my strongest connection to my sign.

Who could say whether or not I would still be me if I had been born under a different constellation? Perhaps I would have been born to love seas and lakes regardless of my chart placements. Perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered in the slightest had I been born a Leo or a Gemini. Maybe my personality, including the pull water has always had on me, was already set by something greater than star placements. And maybe it was something that came to be on its own, purely by coincidence and chance. While there is a lot I can never hope to understand, there is one thing that I know will hold true:

In my next dream, when the ocean tide comes crashing down around me and covers everything in waves of green and blue, I’ll be floating calmly through the submerged streets, feeling right at home with the fish that swim beside me.