“Oh God, what thoughts lovers have!” ―Ovid

First Reading

The tremble in his voice. The circle on the piece of yellow cardboard in my lap. How it’s easier to look down than to stare across at his face. He seems embarrassed, strangely frail, other worldly. If I look into his eyes I’ll be pulled into another world, swallowed whole. This is a realm I’m not sure I want to enter.

One part of me wants to see the reading end as quickly as possible; another part wants it to continue forever. What am I doing here anyway? I’m uneasy, uncertain. Should I leave? But I can’t. I need to know—about her. About us. About these feelings crashing around inside me.

My heart is set upon her, entirely. Am I hoping for too much? Can we be together? Because for me there is no one else. She fills me with joy. I live for her laugh, how we share the most simple moments. It’s a perfect fit. It’s the most wondrous love possible. It’s obvious. So why doesn’t he just come out and say it?

“Soul mates. Match made in heaven. Never seen such a perfect fit. Her pulling away, just a temporary glitch. Needs to catch her breath. She’ll move to Los Angeles. You’ll happily live together.”

Come on. Just say it. What are you waiting for? He’s looking up at me now. A glance. He’s reading my thoughts. He knows what I want is impossible. He sees my sadness, my pain. We’re not meant to be. My stomach is turning. She said she’s not coming. Don’t cry now. Just leave. Call her tomorrow. I’ll tell her how I feel. What? Are you crazy? She doesn’t care anymore. It’s over. Why can’t I accept that? He’s looking up again.

I arrived at William Royers’ house way out in the Valley on a rainy November night.

The house was nestled in an orange grove. His wife answered my knock, showed me into the living room, and had me sit on the couch. A pot of tea steeped on the coffee table. I sat, sipped tea, and nervously looked around the room. It was all very Bohemian.

From a little after seven until almost ten William Royers and I sat across from each other, reflecting on my natal horoscope, a circular map of the heavens constructed for the moment of my birth. The Sun, Moon and eight planets were designated by symbols positioned at various locations on a wheel with twelve spokes. “Their unique arrangement forms the permanent theme of your life,” he told me, “your mythos.” Sometimes William spoke in code: “Your amorous Venus is in conflict with your aggressive Mars.” And sometimes he spoke in no uncertain terms about a person or a place.

In the time of that first reading, William painting the vast landscape of my life, the celestial as well as terrestrial reality, my focus was so intense I felt I was walking through a dream, waking for moments to experience the tea, touch the table, sense the couch, and then find myself back floating again above both of us, looking down. I remember hearing the branch of an orange tree tapping against one window, a faint, yet vivid sound.

William, in black.

He seemed a very nocturnal creature. I guessed him to be in his late forties. At times as we talked he half closed his eyes, heavy-lidded eyes. A Van Dyke beard defined his chin. His receding hairline gave shape to his rounded forehead. He spoke in short sentences in a thick New York accent, and there was a slight tremor in his voice, as though he struggled to stay grounded. His voice didn’t so much cease as simply vanish, a flickering flame.

He was a Basque, descended from the mountain-people of the Iberian Peninsula. Where the Basque originally came from no one can say for sure. Some say from ancient Egypt, and some even say they might descend from Atlantean times.

A Basque, an Astrologer, and a Mystic.

William started the reading by handing me a blank horoscope, a circle drawn on Manila cardstock. He had drawn an eye in the center of the circle, in the style of Egyptian hieroglyphics. He told me to write down what he had to say about each house.

“You’re sick,” he said, deep into the reading.

The dream-like atmosphere broke.
“What?”
“You’ve got Love sickness. She’s coming to California soon, in March, but it doesn’t much matter, because you’re sick.”
“You mean she thinks I’m perverted? A stalker?”
“I don’t know what she thinks. What matters most is that you have Love sickness, which is a sickness of the Soul.”
“This Love sickness: do you mean we’re soul mates, but at the moment I’ve got something going on preventing us from being together?”
“No. I don’t mean to be elusive, or insensitive to what you’re feeling, but our discussing it any further is not going to help. Words are powerless with Love sickness.”
“Well, what can I do?”
“You’ll grow out of it.”
“How long will it take?”
“A while.”
“Will I grow out of it before March?”
“Probably not.”
“You’ve told me so many things about my life that are really right on—my past, my career, mother, father, finances—I still don’t understand why you can’t discuss this. Love is the most important thing in my life right now. I have trouble thinking about anything else.”

“Exactly, and that’s why I can’t discuss it. Look, Readings are for prediction. I create a window in time that lets a person ‘divine’ their past, present and future—alerting them to ‘when’ certain changes are called for in order to stay in sync with their unfolding life’s purpose. Readings are for the gathering of psychological and spiritual information. I hold a mirror up to a person’s character and temperament, helping them to see ‘who they are’ and ‘what’ within them is in need of change. And, we’ve done these things tonight.

“But sometimes Readings are also about me opening a door — a door that leads to a more subtle layer of consciousness deep within a person’s unconscious. This is truly the most important objective of an Astrology Reading: to initiate a person into the world of the Soul, their own Soul Wisdom, Soul-making, and their Soul Love. And we’ve done that.”
“Well, I don’t feel initiated.”
“You’re not. A little while ago, there was a moment when you we’re about to enter that Soul door. I think you felt it. But you pulled back, the door’s still there, it’s open, but you’re not ready to go through.”
“Has this anything to do with my Love sickness?”
“Yes.”

I noticed my breathing.

I felt light-headed. I didn’t want to talk any longer. A slow breath in. A slow breath out. My eyes searched the room. I leaned back into the cushion of the couch. It appeared William had nothing more to say to me.

The Reading was over. Time to leave. Now. I stood up and walked to the door. I felt an odd strangeness, like I was leaving something behind, but didn’t know what.

“Can you suggest something for me to do that would help me with my Love sickness?”
“You mean like drink plenty of green tea?” William smiled wryly.
“I’m serious.”

William’s expression changed. He looked directly at me, even through me.

“Okay, I’ll give you a book on Astrology, but it’s also a book on Love sickness.”
He guided me into his study. Floor-to-ceiling books. Dim lighting. Little totems and figurines everywhere. It felt like a temple. I stood in the middle of the room, a little scared, glancing around the room at the musty books on the occult, astrology, magic, Freemasonry.

William reached down to the bottom shelf of one of his bookcases and handed me a paperback edition of Dante’s Divine Comedy.

“Here, take it.”

Oh, what a bummer. Nothing special. A great book and everything—but stuck back there in the Middle Ages—the Catholic Middle Ages at that.

“This? …”
“I’m not promising you a cure, just begin reading.”

I accepted the book.

“If you have any questions after a few weeks, give me a call.”

William turned and walked me to the door. I silently shook his hand and carried the Divine Comedy with me out into the rain.