Fish, as far as I know, are not famed for their focus. They don´t follow railway tracks, or keep pace with traffic lights.
And I was born a Pisces.
Fresh water fish float or flick and flicker between the reed stems and weed fronds, moving in diagonals, right a bit, left a bit, steering with the tail, a rudder not a compass.
Without focus and direction, how can they accomplish great things?
It seems they cannot use their talents, nor even count how many they have, if any.
But who are we, to say what life is like for a fish? Perhaps they experience magical moments, cruising around in the sunlit water, or the mysterious deep.
And dolphins, leaping, playing, voicing their chatter. Surely we have a lot more to learn about them, from them.
And what of the human pisces, are we the “cold fish” of the expression that English has coined? It only seems that way.
Do we fish fail, for refusing the focus fence? It only seems that way. Really, we are just approaching from another place, coming round again, between the rocks, through the kelp, back for another look, watching rather than speaking.
We speak another way, or how could we ride with the shoal, swarming this way, swelling that way, turning as if we shared one mind, I is we. They is I.
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