A Fennec and a Bicycle in for Repairs

A Fennec and a Bicycle in for RepairsR                   *Reflective Snapshot

Today someone asked me what Mercury retrograde in Pisces looks like.

I had just the image — saved in my “inspirations” folder since yesterday: the perfect example.

Just when you’re told the race is on, when everything’s gaining momentum (Sun in Aries), suddenly there’s a freeze frame — Mercury is retrograde and lags behind in Pisces. It’s been decided: this is a good time to reset the system.

♈–♓ The bicycle of your life is in the shop.

Each of us must repair our own vehicle — mental or literal — and yet collectively, we’re in the same phase of readjustment.

The person who asked me loves astronomy, so he got the metaphor instantly.

He knows Mercury spins at around 47.87 km/s. He even knows exactly which house Hermes is retrograding through in his chart.

The irony? He was literally on his way to get his bike fixed when we ran into each other.

We laughed — we share the same kind of humor.

He asked about my ears. (He’s also my ENT doctor.)

I said, “If we run into each other on the street instead of your office, I guess that means my ears are doing fine.”

There were over two years when, every three months, I’d go partially deaf.

Then, for two months, I’d hear again. A three-month blackout, two-month return — a rhythm precise as a Japanese train schedule. No medical explanation.

Just like that, it eventually stopped.

During that time, I learned to read lips.

My phone’s screensaver was a baby fennec fox with giant ears — like a little Shifu — for encouragement.

The synesthesia signaled something. But someone had to understand it. In the end, I managed.

It’s about what you do with the situation — especially when the situation doesn’t change.

He remembered the photo with the fox ears.

We laughed harder when I told him what a mutual friend said:

“Imagine that happening to you during the pandemic. How would you read lips then?”

We talked about how people show you respect — in my case, for how I speak to Uno, my cat.

He didn’t laugh at that — just stared in awe.

“And how should you speak to them? Is there any other way?”

He has a tomcat too.

Then he added, more surprised:

“And with kids… are there checkboxes for the days of the week, or what?”

We both went quiet.

Words carry their own weight and vibration.

They move with us, between us, through us.

They don’t just translate us — they live inside us.

Image: Public Domain