Silver River: An Invitation

It’s August of 2009. Once again Silver River School for Occult Studies is welcoming a new batch of students and preparing for the year to come. You can join them for a bit of orientation and see how it is to be a student at Silver River…

Having been an astrologer for more than four decades has allowed me to use it in a variety of ways.  Teaching beginners has been one of my great joys. I began teaching five years into practicing thanks to a woman in Portland, Oregon who wondered if I might offer a class at a local community college for adult education. It was scary at first, but soon became a key part of my ongoing astrological offerings. Now, all these years later, I do not usually teach beginners. However, it seems I am not quite done!  I have created an imaginary school for occult studies called Silver River.

Silver River is found, only by those who seek it, in the city of Toronto, where I live. (Or here on Patreon for those who would like to join.)

It is called Silver River to honor the Milky Way; the swath of stars that we see overhead that show us our galaxy. The first time I really saw these stars on a dark night in the wilds of Ontario’s near north, I saw a dancer spanning the night sky. This filled me with delight and awe in equal measure. I have since come to understand that many have seen a goddess stretched across the sky (or the milk from her breasts) and have contemplated what significance this might have for those of us who look up on a dark night and notice a river of stars.

My Silver River has different parts. There are the students; also a fiction but each one with a horoscope and a story that unfolds as we study astrology along with them. Astrology is the main lesson of Silver River around which the school turns. There are also elective subjects in occult arts which broaden the students’ awareness. Here they explore talents or affinities beyond astrology. Their astrology teacher is Janis.There is the Old Lady, but you will have to encounter her on your own Silver River journey. Finally, there are the things that Janis remembers: the story of her personal journey. Should you decide to join the students in their studies (Tier Three on Patreon), using the clues in Janis’ memoir, your final “exam” will be to figure out the time, date and location of her birth.

You will find Silver River in serial format. My intention is to offer an installment once every two or three weeks. Eventually, they will be gathered into one collection and at that time they may (or may not) come together in book form.

Patreon allows me to create different tiers of participation.

Tier One introduces Silver River, including a sample of each thread of the story (as well as what is already on offer at my Patreon site which is a recording of each New Moon gathering of the year, which has nothing to do with Silver River). 

Tier Two includes all of Tier One and carries the story of Silver River forward through the full year of study. This will include handouts that come with the classes of horoscope wheels and learning aids. I hope to occasionally post some articles here as well as the New Moon recordings.

Tier Three includes all that is offered in Tier One and Two, and is for those who would like to actually dive in to the study of astrology with me. It will allow you to ask questions via email, as you reflect on astrology and its application. This tier will also allow for two, one hour zoom sessions of personal tutoring with me over a year.

If you have ever been touched by the Silver River above or within or if you are simply curious about investigating Silver River School for Occult studies, you are welcome here. 

Chapter One: Orientation

That which is Below corresponds to that which is Above, and that which is Above corresponds to that which is Below, to accomplish the miracle of the One Thing.’
The Emerald Tablet of Hermes Trismegistus

…if that which you seek, you find not within yourself,

you will never find it without.

Charge of the Goddess

In this world, made of sequential time, you can stand, facing east every morning of your life and the Sun will rise more or less in the same place: sometimes a little north of east and sometimes a bit south. Twice a year it rises due east. You can count on it. Whether it’s overcast or brilliant that Sun will rise over the east end of town.

In the realm of ‘‘The Above’e’ things are predictable. In fact everything that rises in the sky rises in the east. You might say that things begin in the east. Down here in ‘the Below’ it’s not so predictable. “As above, so below” says the ancient wisdom. It’s a love story.

Most people pay no attention to this. They live perfectly fine lives, sleeping in until the last minute and taking the Sun for granted. If they notice the Moon at all it’s generally when she’s full and looks like a street lamp. For these people the lights of heaven have gone dim.

Others are curious about the material qualities of what goes on up there and seek to learn about how that might affect the material qualities of life down here. They strive to close the gap between above and below. Over millennia they have figured out many interesting and important things, not the least being how to travel to the Moon and beyond.

Still others are in awe of the Sun and can sometimes be heard conversing with the Moon. These people want to know if there is meaning in the apparent rising and setting of the heavens. They are not concerned with travelling to the Moon so much as finding the Moon within; hearing the message that the Universe might be offering; making meaning of the seemingly random occurrences in the below by correlating them with the predictable movements of the above.

One such person is Alfred, a young man of science with a powerful curiosity about the meaning of symbols. He has travelled from his home in the southern United States to study at Silver River Metaphysical Institute for Occult Studies in Toronto, Canada, one of the few places where such study is possible. This is a fact that might come as a surprise to the majority of Torontonians, as you would not find it on a list of the Universities of the World.

On this particular morning in August of 2009 he is standing on the shore of Lake Ontario at the east end of Toronto, watching the Sun rise. He knows this will reassure him at the start of his first full day in this land, far north of the east coast of Florida where he has spent his life so far. He is drawn to the sand, the big water and the light rising in the east. It’s the same, yet different than the landscape he knows so well. The same Sun that rises in Toronto, rises in Palm Beach. He is not exactly homesick but he’s aware that he is somewhere else, starting something new. Something outside the realm of his usual frame of reference.

Watching the Sun rise as expected he marvels at the way it crests over the horizon looking every bit like a crown atop a massive round head. The very image of a King. At his feet, the lake in the early morning light appears black at first then, with a slight adjustment of perspective, shimmers with silver. Soon he will meet Morgan, who he has so far only encountered through email and text. They are to be roommates.

Alfred recalls the day he told his parents that he was taking a year off from his official studies to come here. It was not easy to draw their attention away from the demands of their successful, busy restaurant and share his news. His mother was angry. She pointed at him with her work worn index finger,

“You cannot do this. How do you even know if they are good people? Maybe they will cut you up and make some kind of offering to their dark gods. You could end up as soup!”

His mother’s dramatic images are no surprise to Alfred. She has always painted vivid pictures of whatever she was trying to explain. He cannot help but smile, despite his irritation.

“I can take care of myself. It’s not like I don’t have a black belt.” Alfred was not asking for permission. He had already put everything in place and even had a letter from his future faculty advisor at M.I.T. where he has been accepted to study brain and cognitive sciences. “It’s a done deal. The advisor  even thinks it’s a good idea to take a year and learn outside the academic structure. See?” He waved the letter at her, proof that he does not need his parents’ permission.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have been so interested in my dreams when I was little. Maybe you shouldn’t have told me so many good stories about wizards and magic.”

“So you are blaming me for your stupidity? For the fact you can’t tell a story from the real thing?”

Her smile was all he needed to know it would be ok in the end. He loved this trickster-like aspect of his mother who would make sure he did his homework even as she would tell him over breakfast what the omens in his dreams meant about the day to come.

Alfred’s father said nothing. It’s impossible to tell if he approves or disapproves and maybe it doesn’t matter. He has always seemed to say nothing yet to know everything. As Alfred looked for confirmation or condemnation the song of the Painted Bunting, a richly colored bird, sings in the momentary quiet that sometimes happens amidst the activity of the restaurant. Alfred said nothing but took this as a sign that things were good.  

The Sun has risen. It’s time to find Morgan at a place restaurant called the Sunset Grill. He’s hungry and looking forward to breakfast.

The Sunset Grill is a solid looking, white structure on the main street, Queen Street, thatStreet, the main street that runs through the Beaches. Once it had been the only breakfast place on the strip. As the years go by its shabbiness has become a draw even if it has lost its place as the only one. On weekends people line up to get in for breakfast, the word brunch does not come up in the same sentence as Sunset Grill. The noisy bustle and smell of the proudly traditional breakfast fare of eggs and coffee, sides of overcooked vegetables and greasy hash browns permeates everything.

After waiting on in line Alfred is finally seated at a table in the back. He is quickly lost in the ambiance and the menu. The noise and bustle are a lot like home. The same but different. Sort of like the sunrise. For one thing everyone here is speaking English. And at home there was a lot more hot stuff on the menu. Here it’s a bunch of eggs in different styles and all manner of toast. But the coffee is good and his mother will be happy to know her place offers more choice. Musing over the possibility of eggs one and eggs two,  as described from the menu Alfred is startled to feel a hand on his shoulder. He completely forgot to keep a lookout for Morgan.

“‘Are you Alfred?”’

“‘I am. And you’re Morgan?”’ he says, looking up into the bluest eyes he has ever seen. She drops her pack and sits in the opposite chair.

“‘Sorry if I’m late. Did you order? Did you have trouble finding the place? I’m famished. What did you get?”’

Alfred is seeing his second sunrise of the day. He is not struck with her beauty so much as awakened. Even her fingers are graceful. The reality of her isn’t remotely the way she looked on Facebook. Morgan’s blond hair and pale skin seem to shimmer in the light, ephemeral compared to Alfred’s compact, earth bound sense of himself. She is yellow and gold like a water lily opening to the sun.  Alfred quickly banishes his poetic self in favor of the scientist. He notices that she is an ectomorph and of course he is a mesomorph. Ectos are sensitive, even psychic. Having made the classification he is returned to his normal consciousness. Hardly aware of his moment of awakening.

The waitress arrives, breathless and smiling, her pad at the ready, “You guys ready to order?”

“I’ll have Eggs Sunset,” says Alfred.

“I’ll have yogurt and granola and a cup of Earl Gray if you have it,.” says Morgan as she closes the menu and pushes it to the side.

After breakfast, crossing Queen Street heading toward the boardwalk, they talk about their destination.

“‘Do you know where we are going?’ I couldn’t get a clear sense of where the orientation is happening.” Alfred sneaks a sideways glance at Morgan. ’

Morgan She does not break stride as she replies, “‘I have a hunch where it is but they weren’t clear, that’s for sure.’ I’m guessing they want us to find it based on signs or omens or hunches.”’

“‘That seems so so random.”’

“‘Is it? Random or just hidden, as in occult? I am looking forward to learning to see hidden things without having to be frightened all the time like watching a scary movie. Life isn’t a murder mystery or Friday the Thirteenth as far as I can tell. But it’s full of mysteries and hidden messages. My guess is we’ll be filling in a lot of gaps on our own while we are here.”’

“You think it will be a year of scavenger hunts?” Alfred hopes this isn’t the case.

“Oh no,” is Morgan’s quick reply, “I just think about the word ‘occult’ and how it means hidden. Given that we are here to study that which is hidden it seems sort of logical to me. And there is a kind of humor in it that I love.”

“‘Makes sense,” Alfred nods.. “Last night Now I think about it, I dreamed I was trying to sit down on some very uncomfortable rocks. When I looked out over the water there was a space ship about to take off.”’.

“‘That might mean we would face west. If your space ship is the CN Tower. Kind of matches my hunch.”’

Having crossed Queen Street they are now headed down toward the boardwalk in a western direction. Morgan’s confident stride makes it easy for Alfred to follow.

They turn right and walk west to the end of the boardwalk. Then right again along a path that takes them around a bend to a craggier part of the shoreline. Morgan guides them off the asphalt onto a dirt path. She points down to a rocky beach where a small group of people are standing.

“‘I bet that’s them. We’re still a bit early. There will be more soon.”

As they turn to descend an older woman comes up behind them.

“‘Excuse me. My name is Peggy. I apologize for following you but I overheard you say you are looking for a group of people. I’m wondering if it’s the same group I’m looking for.”’

“‘Which group is that?”’ Morgan’s instinct is to protect privacy.

“‘It’s about metaphysical studies?”’. Her sweet smile puts everyone at ease.

“‘I’m Morgan.”’ When Alfred sees that Morgan is not about to introduce him, he offers, his hand and his name to Peggy.

“‘Let’s go then,.” says Morgan, taking charge, “ I’m not 100% sure this is the place but I’m definitely willing to check it out.”’

As they make their way down to join the small group at the shore, Peggy observes that there are not many people there.

“‘Somehow I expected a larger group. Although I’m not sure why. It’s not like it was easy to find the school in the first place.”

“‘No kidding.”’ Alfred remembers his frustration at knowing he had heard about a metaphysical mystery school but not being able to recall where or how he knew about it. He was sure it must have been the internet but for a while his searching had been in vain. He looked up every configuration he could imagine. And although he found lots of similar possibilities he couldn’t find the one he was looking for. Then he began asking his friends who thought he was batty to be searching out such things. Finally one day he went to the library. He should have started there. All his life the librarians had helped him through the rough spots. Stopping at the table in the vestibule where pamphlets for all sorts of things lay scattered he found what he was looking for, although it was not what he remembered or thought he was looking for. Silver River Metaphysical Institute in Toronto, Canada. He snatched it up and here he is.

“I can’t remember hearing about Silver River the first time. It seems to me I always knew about it and that I would come here one day,” says Morgan as if Alfred had been speaking out loud. Before he can ask her how she did that they have made it down to the shore and join the three who are already there. At the same time they notice two more arriving from the opposite end of the cove where they now stand.

A man who appears to be in his mid-30s strides over to Alfred, puts out his hand to shake and says simply, “Len.”

“Alfred,” is the dutiful reply. “This is Morgan and Peggy. Are you here for Silver River Institute orientation?”

“You mean Occult U?” says Len.

“There couldn’t be two such schools meeting at the same time and place,” suggests Morgan, “I guess we’re in the right place. How about you, Peggy? How did you find your way here?”

“I went to a tarot reader who suggested I study astrology. In searching for a class I kept bumping into references to Silver River. I liked the name. It feels ancient and yet familiar to me.” Peggy, ever the teacher, aware of the unspoken, turns to Len, “And you, Len?”

Len looks over to where three women are standing and talking. “Olivia. I met her at a party and we became friends. She thinks that if I delve into the occult I’ll be a better coach. I just tagged along. They seem to let just about anybody in…”

“What sport do you coach?” Alfred has heard about Canadians and hockey. He is momentarily fascinated to imagine the occult arts benefiting a hockey team.

“I’m a life coach. I help people live more dynamic and successful lives. At least that’s what I want to do. This might be one more tool for the tool box. It sure would be different than most life coaches.”

Suddenly, a voice rises out of the chatter, distinct from their conversation as well as the sound of waves breaking on the shore.

“Hi everyone. Welcome to Silver River orientation.”

The group turns to face the speaker, a tall thin person of indeterminate age and gender whose hair sticks out on each side of the baseball cap atop their head.

“My name is Merc. I am a student teacher. I’ve been where you’re standing. If you get bolloxed up you can call me. I won’t answer, but I promise I will respond.

“As you may know, the core curriculum is astrology. The first class is Thursday, August 20th. On this syllabus I’m passing around you’ll find more details, start times for classes, a list of electives and my phone number. The electives are classes which you get to choose the ones you want. You have to take some of them.”

Lillian, a woman in her 40s, dressed for a different kind of meeting, suggestive of a board room or a consulting office, perspiring in the heat, raises her hand, “Are there exams? It didn’t seem that there were any entrance requirements?”

“If there are exams, you won’t know you’re taking them. You will be the only one to know if you pass or fail. For now, you’re here. Don’t be afraid to love it. Any other questions?”

“What about the Old Lady?” Says a different voice.

“Who might you be?” Merc asks.

“I’m Sophie. I’m not sure where I heard about her but I seem to have the idea that she’s the founder or something and that she is impossibly old.”

Merc smiles and winks at Sophie. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out. It’s a great course. Learn all you can. Call me if you need to. See ‘ya!” Touching the cap on their dancing hair, as if in a salute, they are done and quickly gone.

Just north of the Beaches where this gathering has taken place, where you can smell the lake when the wind is right, Janis is preparing to visit Helene. Anticipation mixes with something she wouldn’t quite call dread as she reminds herself that today is orientation day for the new students attending Silver River. Soon they will be hers to awaken to her favorite subject.

Morning ablutions done, she is ready for the walk. It is still early enough that the heat and humidity have not yet permeated the city. Given how alien Janis often feels in Toronto she enjoys the city best before the dust gets stirred up as the day bustles along. The cells of her body are most at home by the ocean, which is where she grew up. As she walks out the door of her house, which looks like all the other houses, she marvels how it is that she has come to live such a land-locked life, and how amazing it is that she never loses the longing for home. When she bothers to analyze this she knows it is because that home was never a place she felt she belonged in the first place. The longing to belong is one of the most fundamental human conditions. Awareness of this has not exempted her from feeling like a transient on planet earth even after so many years.

Chapter Two: Janis Visits Helene

Janis doesn’t pay much attention to weather reports. Most days she can sense what the conditions will be. This one will be hot and humid once it gets going.

Janis has been the astrology teacher for Silver River Metaphysical Institute for many years. Her entire adult life has been an immersion in the rich language of myth and symbolism which astrology offers. It has nourished her through bad times and good. She enjoys sharing it with others. Even so, the beginning of another year of new students always puts her on edge. Although she balks at the prospect of meeting new people, she is endlessly fascinated by the way the horoscope so specifically reflects identity and life experience. She loves the way it fosters their ability to speak, read and understand the language of astrology. It is not actually the new students that cause her anxiety as much as the prospect of showing herself to them. It always generates the kind of fear that accompanies risk taking. Perhaps it’s a throwback to the stranger danger of her past, an arcane response to betrayals of long ago, written in her own horoscope.

Helene, “the Old Lady” as the students generally call her, is the wisest most comforting presence in Janis’ life. She makes getting old seem like nature’s gift rather than a shoddy side effect of public health. Janis has known Helene for most of her astrological career. Helene was the first person to encourage Janis to be a professional astrologer. She was Janis’ revered Yoga teacher back then. Her faith and trust in Janis’ abilities was pure validation. She supposes the feelings she has for Helene are akin to the kind of love people have for their mothers or grandmothers.

Lost in a brown study as she walks, no longer aware of the city waking around her, Janis wonders, not for the first time, if along with her other addictions she is also a workaholic, living the life of the mind, avoiding the painful, elusive, so called, real world”. Despite the love and warmth Janis feels for Helene, she doesn’t visit much. Not having known the love of a mother in childhood, she is superstitious about wearing out her welcome. She is expert at using busyness to ward off too much connection.

Shaking off her thoughts as though brushing cobwebs from her skin, her Janis’ smile returns with the knowledge that she is fortunate to have a friend like Helene with whom she can talk out her recent disturbing dream.

Another person might feel guilty only visiting when there is trouble but Janis doesn’t even consider such a thing. Helene is one who knows, and in her knowing accepts each person the way a gardener accepts plants. She never resists the nature of a person, or what comes up in any given moment. Janis trusts her and feels safe in her presence.

Remembering one of her favorite games from childhood, one of the few she could stand to play, she asks herself the question, “If I was a plant in Helene’s house, what would I be?” ? Maybe a cactus! The smile returns, her eyes focus outward, and she feels that she has arrived.

It’s often hard to find the street, the door, and the house where Helene lives. Does she erase it from people’s memory to preserve her privacy? Maybe this is protection. A way to filter out those who really have no reason to visit: the merely curious. The house always looks the same upon entering. But the outside is never quite familiar.

Over many years Janis has learned that the most efficient way to get to Helene is not to try to figure out where the house is but to let her feet do the walking and to let the mind ramble along behind them. Awake in the dream of life she inevitably has a sense of the house, the place, the door.

Today she needs something. These are the thoughts that accompany her as she walks by the gardens adorning the streets of Toronto’s east end, filled with black eyed Susan, pink and white phlox, purple Echinacea, and hydrangeas like flowery snow balls. It is the last hurrah of the perennial gardens. Not yet the nostalgia of autumn but the abundance of summer even as it comes to its inevitable end.

Standing before a door, just like any other door, Janis lifts the dragonfly knocker and knocks without hesitation. Doubt could change everything in a situation like this. This must be the place. The door opens. “How good to see you Janis. Welcome.”

For the students at Silver River, Helene may be an archetype of old age but Janis sees something else. The piercing blue eyes, alive with perception and welcome seem to accept fully all that Janis brings to the doorstep. Helene embodies a sense that all will be well, like an old tree you might lean your back up against in a deep, dark wood. Helene is white haired, her body soft and diminished in the manner of old age. Yet radiating from the soft, and slight body is something of the wisdom of time spent in the sorrowful joy and the joyful sorrows of life; eyes that appear to see inwardly as well as outwardly.

Janis responds to the sense that she is more than her troubles, more than the tangles of thought and sensation that she feels at this moment. She would not be here if she didn’t trust Helene so completely. Even so, it is not easy to be seen so fully by another. 

Although the inside of the house remains the same, the view out the window is not predictable. Today it overlooks the ravine. The cramped, hectic feel of the city recedes, replaced by a sense of delight and connection with the natural world.

On the table a vase of pale pink peonies, reminiscent of June, not October, bend over their container, bowing reverently to their creator.  Janis exhales deeply, dropping her shoulders from a tension she didn’t feel till she let go of it.

“I’m eager to hear about your students, but first how are you?”

Turning her gaze from flowers to the window, lips pressed together as they curve upward, the turning the worry lines around her eyes shift into smile lines as Janis says,

“Do you think I only come here when I am troubled or if when I come my troubles just rise to the surface?”

And there they are. Tea and sympathy. Janis smiles to herself as she changes the notion of ‘sympathy’ to ‘empathy’ in her mind.

“I had one of those dreams that wakes you in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. It seemed as if I was awakened by a loud voice saying something monosyllabic like “No” or “Yes”. A kind of coming-apart-at-the seams dream.” As she speaks she rubs her hands together, trying to feel that they are hers. “It was scary, even though it’s not so scary in the telling. I worry when I hear voices…”

Helene nods but says nothing. She sips her tea and closes her eyes. She opens them and reaching for Janis’ hand she says, “and then?”

Janis begins to say more but as the words take shape in her mind they shatter, kaleidoscope-like, into different patterns. She is sixteen, enraged, confronting her father, ever the lawyer with his selfish disregard of their family. She wants him to know she blames him for leaving Janis to deal with her alcoholic, addicted mother. She is shouting into the red telephone. Like the crisis phone in the White House was how her mother used to describe it. Janis is accusing him, sounding like her mother, high pitched, shrewish and desperate. Accusing. Defending her broken, crazy, wild mother against her rational, cool, dismissive father.

He fought back, “Stop right now or I’ll have you locked up in a mental hospital. And we both know I could do that.” It was the first and last time in her life that Janis ever got angry at her father.

Trembling, her thoughts return to the room as she feels Helene’s cool hand on hers, anchoring her to the present. Her gaze turns outward as she meets Helene’s.

“I guess what I heard the voice say was ‘No’ not ‘Yes’. One of those no’s that circumscribe my life.”

Tea is finished. It’s time to either spill the beans or take your leave. Helene is patient. Janis is tense, beginning to see the flaws in her thinking.

“Sometimes I get hung up before a new season of teaching. I feel the need to question what I do. From one day to the next it makes sense but looking back over it the way seems almost artless, unconscious, as if I had no idea what I was doing but still there is a pattern. An underlying set of themes.”

Her face tightens as she speaks, imploring Helene for something she cannot name. “Sometimes I love teaching, more than anything; other times I hate it. I hate being the know-it-all, the one with all the answers. Worst is my impatience with the stupidity of some of the students. Not that they don’t know astrology but that they don’t listen to what they do know. It’s when they ask the same questions over and over and don’t listen to the answers. I want to shake them.”

Her dark eyes fill with tears that don’t spill over. Her hands have come to rest on her thighs as if she is preparing to stand up and leave. But she doesn’t move.

Helene looks at Janis, then turns her gaze toward the window.

“Lots of activity out there.”

The back yard bistro, populated with squirrels and birds is in full swing.

“I think I understand. Somedays it’s as though you have a GPS for the soul. You know the steps required for the dance. It’s art; it’s fun. And other days it’s like one big, self-fulfilling prophesy. I know how it will be because I know how it was. Is that the issue?”

“Exactly,”, says Janis wondering where Helene learned about GPSs; startled by the possibility that she has a life no one knows about, not even Janis. “So what do you do? How did you used to do it back when you read people?”

Helene smiles and says in a voice just above a whisper, “I still read people; it’s just not so obvious.”.

Janis laughs and the kaleidoscope turns again as she wonders how many years it will take before she just lives with things as they are in the moment. In all the many decades she has been immersed in the realm of symbols and images, looking through the glass, into other realities she still has trouble laying down her analytical defenses in favor of allowing the world to simply be what it is and she a witness.

Quietly stacking the cups and saucers to bring to the kitchen, Helene asks,

“Are you still impressed when people tell you the details of their lives? At the way they match up with the symbols?’ Helene studies the remains of tea that have settled in the bottom of her cup as if reading from a book.

“Every day,” is Janis’ quick reply. “It never ceases to amaze and delight me to even catch a glimpse of the seamless web of connection between the above and the below.”

“Well that’s it then. The thing that keeps doubt from overwhelming you along the way. I don’t know if anyone, ever will have the last word on random vs meant-to-be or free will and fate for that matter. That would only happen in a parallel universe, somewhere where there are only fixed stars. No planets to wander through the heavens. No moon to wax and wane.”

“It’s true, isn’t it? If there was no Moon there would be no tides, no ebb and flow to stir the cauldron that gives rise to life forms. I do love that.” says Janis, tilting her head, smiling at the squirrel who has come up to the glass and peers in. “Do you think that squirrel sees himself or us?”

“We’ll never know, will we? How about you choose three cards for the new school year?” ’ suggests Helene, handing the deck to Janis.

 Yes please!

Chapter 3: Part One: Janis teaches the First Class

Alfred gets off the train at Woodbine station. As he ascends the stairs he hears what might be someone calling his name; surprising to his ears in this still unfamiliar city.

“Hey Al, how goes it?”

“Len! How are you? I guess we are all going to the same place.” Alfred is not surprised that Len would shorten his name. He seems like that kind of guy.

Len reads the address off a card he is carrying. “I think it’s really close to the subway.” Alfred is not worried about finding the house. Morgan gave him good directions. He takes the lead and guides Len to turn right out the station doors which open as they approach.

“Is this your first introduction to astrology?” Alfred asks.

“Oh yeah, I haven’t done any of this stuff before. I figure I’ll just jump in and see how it goes. There are too many books to choose from.”

“The one I like is The Inner Sky by Steven Forrest,” Alfred offers. “It’s a good read and it was on the recommended reading list.”

“What are you, some kind of teaching assistant?” Len seems reprimanded by Alfred’s suggestion, as if he has been caught slacking off in his studies. This is a familiar feeling for him, when it comes to learning.

“Hey man,” Alfred moves to the edge of the sidewalk, away from Len. “Doesn’t matter to me what you read.”

“So you think the teacher will wear a funny hat?” Alfred doesn’t have to look to hear the smirk in Len’s question. “Actually I don’t think so. Morgan says that she looks like any old woman around sixty.”

“How does Morgan know?”

“She had a reading, an astrological reading.”

“Oh, have you?”

“Nope. Not yet. Morgan really wants to be an astrologer. She’s gung ho.”

“Do you want to be one?”

“Me? Not that I know of.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I just realized one day that there was this huge gap in my studies. That I had been led to learn all sorts of things but never the occult stuff.  Morgan says that it’s because my Sun is in my 8th house and my Moon is the 12th. Anyway I just want to learn. You?”

“I’m not sure. Like I said, Olivia talked me into it. But I’m curious if it will help me be a better coach. I just want to be the best.”

They come to the house. Len’s smirk returns, “All these houses look alike! How can you tell which one has the wizard?”

“You have to look. Morgan said the door knocker would be a dragonfly. And here it is.”

“Not exactly a dead giveaway.”

“It is if you’re looking for it.”

They knock and discover that the door is open. They walk in.

Alfred recognizes people from the gathering at the beach, already seated in a circle. Janis is easily recognizable because she is the only one who wasn’t there that day. She is a woman of slight build with short, fly-away, salt and pepper hair, framing her head a bit like a halo when seen in the right light. She seems unassuming, not the kind to catch your eye, until she starts to talk. And once everyone has removed their shoes and finds a seat in the semi-circle of chairs in the small living room, she does just that. Without preamble.

“Once upon a time people sat outside at night.  They had no lights by which to read, they had no night life save for the moon and stars.  Maybe they sat in a circle as we are doing here this evening. It was natural for them to make up stories about the things they saw in the sky because that is what human beings do. They make up stories.

“These people had already noticed that the sun would rise every morning, just as they did, and keep them company throughout the day. They associated the sun with rebirth and awakening because they could count on it after each night and because it revealed the day. They saw the moon and the way it waxed and waned and looked like a pregnant woman’s belly. They figured out that the moon did this every 29 days which was the same as the menstrual cycle. Surely this moon, which is the same size as the sun, is a mother: A Great Mother.

“They noticed Mercury on the horizon, flickering in and out of view. This made them laugh because it was so like the way their minds worked; darting from one thing to another. And Venus, shining like a diamond in the sky must be about beauty, as she would take your breath away hanging there in an indigo sky. Mars, of course was red like blood, like fever and infection that so easily killed people. Clearly a warrior, and a dangerous one at that. Jupiter staring down at them like a silvery eye, not as big as Venus but bigger and steadier than the stars, seemed like the eye of wisdom or judgment. And last, the least bright and slowest moving, was Saturn. Which came to represent age, a venerable and frightening reality: venerable for the ones who managed to live long and gather wisdom through experience; frightening because we all know what happens when you’re old. You die.”

Janis looks around the circle, briefly taking in each person, “Welcome to Astrology class; the core curriculum for Silver River Metaphysical institute. I like to start with a story to get you in the right mood. Now we should introduce ourselves to each other.”.

As Janis surveys this small group of new students whom she will come to know deeply over their course of study she is aware of how people seem vague and barely drawn for her at first impressions. She has a hard time remembering names. But once she sees the horoscope she will remember not only their names but their astrological imprint as well.

It’s obvious to Alfred that she has done this before. She’s a pro. He experiences her as a cross between a kind and encouraging kindergarten teacher and a professor of hidden subjects who will expect something from them. He is drawn into a feeling that they are doing something both intellectual and occult. Something light and airy, rational and modern, as well as ancient, arcane and dark. Very dark. A delicious sensation runs along his spine and he knows that he has made the right choice to be here. 

Janis continues, “You could simply just say your name, your Sun sign and a short something else if you want. Only if you want. The real introductions will come as we dig into your charts which are the raw material we will use for our study.”

Sprawled across a couch backed up against a big window a woman with two pony tails sticking up from her head at odd angles like celery stalks raises her hand but doesn’t wait for a nod. “I’m Sophie. I’m wondering why you want us to give our Sun signs. I thought Sun signs stuff was trivial and stupid. Oh yes, I’m a Virgo.”

“Good question. People have been doing Sun sign astrology since at least Roman times when astrologers would stand on street corners and offer horoscopes to passersby. It seems that Sun sign astrology has been non-stop since then with interludes of having to go underground but never to disappear. The Sun in the chart is what we want ultimately to be proud of about our lives. To know a person’s Sun allows you to see into their heart’s desire and on a practical level you can flatter or insult people pretty effectively when you know their Sun sign.”

“Oh no! Maybe I shouldn’t have been so willing to say my sign if it makes it so easy to manipulate me.” Sophie exaggerates a kind of distress which may carry a grain of truth.

“Don’t fret, Ms. Virgo. We will all be equally revealed before this class is done, and now you all know the secret you are inoculated against the evil intent of mind manipulating astrologers.” Janis’ smile puts everyone at ease for the time being.

Next to Sophie is Len, a man in his mid-thirties, dressed in his Adidas best as if he is planning to go for a run after class. He is prepared with clip board and pen and looks at Janis with a personal intensity as if he wants all her attention for himself and he’ll do whatever it takes. Her hackles rise. She wonders if she’s too sensitive to do this work anymore. She wants to crush him like a bug. Once again, and not for the first time she is skewed on the point of how easy it is to dislike individuals even though she is sure she will come to love this guy for the soul that he is, even if she never comes around to liking him.

“I’m Len. I’m a Leo. I hear that means I want all the attention. I’m here because Olivia said I should come.”

Janis smiles at his astrological funny regarding Leos thinking it is probably close to the truth in his case.

“I’m Olivia,” says the young woman with an abundant head of straight black hair on his left. “I’m a Taurus. I’ve been interested in astrology and all sorts of occult things since I was a teenager. I can hardly believe I found a place to study it all.” Her enthusiasm underscores the word ‘all’, sending a smile around the circle. “I love that the title of the course is ‘Astrology, Our Ancient Psychology’.”

Seated on her left with his back straight and his feet flat on the floor, hands on thighs is Alfred, roughly the same age as Olivia.

“Alfred here. I’m an Aquarian. Can’t wait to find out what that really means.”

Janis nods and smiles moving her gaze to Morgan seated beside him, the one person that Janis remembers meeting before the class began.

“I’m Morgan, also a Taurus. Happy to be here and learn all I can about astrology.”

Next to Morgan is an older woman, a bit younger than Janis. “My name is Peggy. I have spent most of my adult life being an art teacher. Recently I got hit, you might say, with a strong interest in astrology and all sorts of occult studies. I was delighted to come upon Silver River School. I am a Cancer and, like Alfred, would like to know what that really means.”

Last is a woman neatly attired in a beige A-line skirt with a slightly darker blazer, accented with a bright orange scarf creating a very harmonious effect complimenting her brown hair and eyes.

“My name is Lillian. I am a Jungian analyst and a Scorpio.” When she speaks her voice sounds a bit like a rusty hinge creating a contrast to her pleasant appearance. Janis wonders what it might be like to have an analyst with a voice like that.  Pen, poised for note taking, Lillian seems like someone you would be more likely to encounter at a board meeting rather than an astrology class.

Janis thinks, this one will challenge my credentials.  Oh well.  It’s always good for a self-taught, self-proclaimed as it were person to have to defend herself. I guess.   

“And I am Janis, your teacher for this class. As you probably know, astrology is the main subject in your first year at Silver River. It’s not the only important one but we feel it gives a solid base and begins to train the mind in the art of interpretation. You will be together as a group for all your classes. This helps you in all sorts of practical ways which you will see. It also helps me to get to know you, as once we get started we will be working together at a deep level. I have been at this for over 35 years and it is my great pleasure to share what I know with you. As I think I mentioned we will use your own charts as our learning base.”

Before she can finish what she was planning to say Lillian jumps in, “Does that mean we have to reveal our innermost realties to each other?”

“Not necessarily. All you really need to do is show up and be yourself. Whether that means you tell all or keep your secrets is up to you. In any case we will get to observe who we are in the light of the chart and that is what matters.”

“Will we get to know your chart?” asks Sophie with a glint of mischief.

“I could do that but then I would be teaching a course in who I am which would not be what we are here for. So the answer is ‘no’. I hope you won’t take that as a power trip. You’ll see, once we get started that we are, each one of us, compelled and fascinated by our own story and how astrology reveals it. The other reason is my own chart is too familiar to me. Your charts will make me have to work harder.”

As Janis looks around the circle she is reminded again by the feeling in her gut that she really doesn’t like people much. She could easily feel like going to sleep right here and now. But astrology is her gift because, despite being put off by the necessary façade of personality which people create for themselves, the chart enables her to see the terrible fragility and amazing strength of humans, each with their own design. Each and every chart opens her to a feeling of love for the person it belongs to. And this love is far greater than her discomfort. Must be Scorpio I have rising.

Chapter 3 Part Two: First Astrology Class

“Now let’s return to our story about the first people. Remember, we are sitting around the campfire,” Janis reaches toward the beeswax candle glowing steadily on the table. “I am telling you stories, not facts. Stories that have come down through eons of time and carry meanings that may or may not be literal.” Everyone loves a good story. Her students are no exception. As one they seem to lean in toward the candle and wait for her to continue. The exhaustion fades and Janis is filled with love for their eagerness and the pleasure she feels in storytelling. She continues, “Each planetary glyph or symbol is a combination of the circle, crescent and cross. A circle symbolizes spirit: That which is all inclusive and which we all share.  The circle with a dot in it represents the Sun”.

As she speaks she holds up a piece of paper with this image on it. “In a horoscope the Sun represents our personal connection to spirit and so there is a dot at the center of the circle.  The crescent represents the soul which seems to hold our memory of the past be it in this life or one preceding. Our mother is the one who gives us life and feeds us from her body; linking us to this continuity. The crescent is the symbol for the Moon.

Sophie interrupts, “Do we have to believe in past lives to do astrology?”

“Absolutely not!” is Janis’ quick reply. “Everything in astrology is really metaphorical, symbolic, indirect and open to interpretation. I would like to dive more deeply into this topic when we talk about the Moon’s nodes, if you can wait.” Sophie smiles and nods saying, “Can’t wait.” Janis continues.

“The symbol of the cross represents matter. Each of the parts of this cross are the same length, unlike the Christian cross.”

“So what’s the difference?” Len is alert to a possible debate. 

“Good question,” Janis welcomes his challenge. It is the stuff of learning.

“The cross we are using in our astrological alphabet is the cross of matter, not of crucifixion. You can see now nicely it fits inside a circle. Matter is something each and every incarnated entity must contend with. Crucifixion is something humans do to each other.”

Morgan muses out loud, “Wow. I never thought of that.”

‘It’s not something you would necessarily think about if you weren’t comparing the images in an esoteric way.”

“So is astrology a different kind of religion then?” Len asks.

“Astrology, as far as I can tell, is art: not science and not religion. You don’t believe in the Sun or Venus. They simply are. They exist as we do. Astrologers use them to tell stories about how we live. There is no worship involved. Although there are people who bring their religion to astrology: Who infuse it with their belief system. And maybe it’s impossible to be totally unbiased when you read a chart. But astrology itself is not inherently one way or another about what you should believe. It’s more about myth.”

Janis loves this about astrology; that it’s a carrier of mythic themes. She is passionate about wanting them to understand what she is saying. She is also realistic, knowing that only some of them will.  “In a book called A Terrible Love of War the author, James Hillman, a Jungian, talks about how myths never happened they just are. A myth doesn’t care if we believe in it. It’s not looking for proof. Myths aren’t about fact. They are about how things are. You don’t believe in Mars as if it’s a fact or a piece of information. Mars is a symbol for aggression. You know it when you see it.”

 “Hillman’s son is an astrologer,” offers Morgan.

“As was Carl Jung’s daughter,” returns Janis with an eye in Lillian’s direction.

Peggy raises her hand, “Could you say more about how astrology is art?”

“An artist needs to learn to use tools, to develop expertise through practice. The tools are useful because they allow her to express something she sees, indirectly. We could talk about metaphor here and never learn astrology. You might think of it this way: we look through symbols, not at them. We are translating one reality into another through the medium of astrology rather than paint.”

“So is astrology a language then?” Sophie is onto something and butts in, forgetting to wait and see if Peggy might have more to say.

“It is exactly that. It is a language. And this language comes to us with an alphabet and much precedent of usage down through the ages. Our class is really about learning to speak, read, and write this language and hopefully use it in a way that helps people see themselves. But the truth is, you can do anything you like with it, once you know it. The study of astrology can inform just about anything else you choose to learn such as psychology, history, politics and more.” 

“Continuing on with our essential symbols; the circle, crescent and cross, here is the symbol for Venus.

You can see the circle of spirit resting on the cross of matter. Venus is about what you love. It can be about seduction. It is the story of the body longing to attract Spirit. The marriage of body and spirit, you might say. This glyph is Mars.

It too is made up of the circle of spirit and the cross of matter. You may think that the cross is really an arrow, but it’s just a cross that is moving so fast that it’s bent on the edges. This is the story of matter leading spirit around. Matter is above spirit in the Mars symbol. Mars represents an aggressive, or at least assertive, kind of passion that insists on making the world what it wants. Venus is about matter attracting Spirit. Mars represents the impulse for matter to direct Spirit. Together, Mars and Venus represent desire. You can play with the rest of the planetary glyphs on your own. Feel free to share with the rest of us if you have any revelations.”

Sophie is visibly excited. “That’s so cool! I love it. It’s as if our ancient ancestors left a message in the actual symbols.” She has found herself at a banquet and she’s only tasted the first bite.

“How about we look at a chart and get the lay of the heavens, so to speak?  Each of you has a copy of your chart in the handouts.

Janis pushes the button on the projector which is hooked up to her computer and aims it at the wall.

This chart is how the sky looked at the moment we began this class. It’s made as though we are at the center and everything revolves around us. On the right is a key to help you recognize what you are looking at. There are five planets plus the Sun and the Moon, which aren’t planets. Officially, they are called ‘luminaries’ because they light up the sky. I can get lazy so instead of saying ‘planets and luminaries’ I will just say ‘planets’. Inside the circle you will also find Chiron and the North and South Nodes. Every horoscope has the planets as well as the twelve signs of the zodiac which you can see circumscribing the circle. Although there are always twelve signs in every chart, only some of them will have planets in them. As well there are twelve houses in every chart and only some of them will have planets in them. The zodiac itself is on the outside of the circle because it is made of stars and they are outside our solar system.”

Janis pauses and scans the room, searching to see if she has lost anyone. Each of them seems to be scanning the projected image on the wall.

“Each individual horoscope wheel is created based on the time, date, and place of your birth as if you are at the center of the universe. This is the most wonderful metaphor of astrology. Each of us feels that he or she is the center of the universe. Each of us is: but only from our own perspective. The entire thing is based on this grand illusion. While we are alive and have a body we are mostly inclined to participate in the dance as if we are at the center. But, in truth, it is an illusion. A trick of the mind that creates what we call reality. Waking up to this is the big challenge. Even if you do wake up to it you still have to live as if you are the center. In fact, the more awake to the truth of this you are, the more your so-called centeredness will resonate with others so they live from their center as well. It’s a win-win.”

“So none of this is real,” whispers Olivia, as if she always suspected as much. Her voice is just loud enough for the class to hear.

“It’s real in one way, but not in another. It’s real in that you have feelings about everything and these feelings can lead to actions which create the world in which you live. But we might say it’s not ultimately real because nothing stays the way it is. Nothing lasts. What we call reality is constantly changing. You all know how intense you can feel about something and a year later you wonder what you were thinking. It was real in that moment, but it turned into something else. The chart is real in that it is a snapshot of the way the planets looked at the moment you were born. It’s real in that it will describe your nature and help you navigate your experience. But ultimately, it’s as real as a wave in the ocean, or a breeze. Or a rainstorm.”

As she speaks Janis is aware that the first class is so important. It lays the framework. It offers the container that will hold all the rich and amazing awakenings the students will have along the way. But the students rarely remember what they heard. They smell it, and they sense it: but they rarely retain any of the information. It’s like your own birth: you were there, it conditions your entire life, but you can’t remember it consciously at all!

“So, back to the chart. At the top of this map is south. Therefore east is to your left, west to the right, and north at the bottom. It may ruin your sense of direction but think of it as alternative space. Not physical space. Anyone know why south is up in an astrological chart?”

It comes as no surprise to Janis when Alfred raises his hand. “Because if you want to see the Sun, Moon and planets cross the sky you have to face south as you look up?”

“Absolutely. Given our shrinking world we should take note that this is true for the northern hemisphere. It’s different down under, although things still rise in the east and set in the west. Astrology originates in the northern hemisphere and many of its basic tenants are north-centric. Planets appear to rise in the east and set in the west but the arc they make is toward the south.”

Janis points to each direction as she references it, as if the sun rises in her front yard and sets in the back. She knows that even though they will be looking at many charts while in this course, they won’t really get it unless they are looking up some night, when Mars or the Moon are up in the night sky, and realize they must face toward the south to see them. 

“There are some definite disadvantages to being a city astrologer. But we will overcome them, I hope.

“Each and every horoscope you look at will have planets, signs and houses. These are the basic building blocks of a chart. A useful and easy way to play with this information is to consider that Shakespeare was correct when he said in As You Like It, that “All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; …, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages.” Most likely he was referring to the seven planets.”

“Was Shakespeare an astrologer too?” Lillian is interested in this, given that Jung seems to have been one as well.

“Back in those days it’s quite likely that any well-educated person knew at least some astrology. If you would like to learn more about this you might look for a book called: Shakespeare and the Stars by Priscilla Costello. She’s even from Toronto.”

Janis returns her focus and theirs to the subject matter, “Your chart and the life whose story it tells is the theatre. The planets are the actors. They move through the sky and through your chart. They take their scripts from the sign that they are in and their stage is the house they inhabit. Planets are said to tenant houses.” 

As Janis pauses to turn on the projector and locate her laser pointer, Peggy notices a black cat walking into the room. She reaches down to pet him which he takes as his due. Facing the wall he waits patiently for the laser dot to blink on and off so he can chase his virtual mouse.

Janis hands the pointer to Morgan who is sitting next to the projector and asks her to aim it at the wall.

“How archetypal that you have a black cat.” Lillian says.

“His name is Pan. He loves a group. I hope no one is allergic. Now see here…” Janis reclaims the pointer and aims it at the projected chart on the wall. “We can know something important about Peggy’s chart right from the start. Can anyone tell what it is?”

No one can but she is not disheartened. In a few weeks they will know much more.

“Here is the symbol for the Sun and it sits on the east point of the chart. The line you see that runs across from the 1st house to the 7th represents the horizon. This point or cusp of the first house is called the ascendant because it shows which sign was rising at the moment of birth. What time of day was it when Peggy was born?”

“4:48 AM,” says Len, reading the data from the upper left.

“True, Len, but using the Sun what would you know?” 

Light dawns on his face as he realizes that he is looking at the fact that the Sun was rising at 4:48 AM in Regina where Peggy was born.

“She was born at sunrise when the Sun was coming up over the eastern horizon.” 

“That’s right,” says Peggy. “It was something I was told from early on. It must have been a long night. Does this mean something about me?”

“Most definitely,” Janis nods. “More than we can know at this moment, but how do you feel if you’re lucky enough to see the sunrise?”

“Mostly I am happy to greet a new day, although there have been times when that wasn’t the case. Now that I am of a certain age I often feel relieved to know the night’s over and I can get out of bed!”  She laughs and everyone gets the joke. 

“The Sun on the ascendant can indicate a sunny disposition but the opposite can also be true if there was no one who really gloried in your existence.” 

“Thereby hangs a tale,” is Peggy’s swift response, accompanied by a half smile as if to soften the feelings she has about this.

“Now you know something. The location of the Sun in each and every chart tells you what time of day the person was born. And as the Sun represents something we want to be proud of, knowing where it is in a horoscope gives us information about that very thing. You can see why Sun sign astrology is so persistent.”

“What does it mean if you were born around noon?” Lillian wants to know.

Janis clicks on Lillian’s chart which comes up on the wall.

“Anyone want to take a stab at it?”

“Noon is when the Sun is highest in the sky, as in High Noon,” Morgan says. “Does that mean the person is important or hard to miss?”

“Could be. When I learned astrology my teachers were fond of saying that the Sun up there was either famous or infamous. I don’t think it always confers high visibility but it is about ambition and a sense that you are supposed to shine your light.” Lillian settles back in her chair taking in this information about herself and making no comment.

Janis can’t help but laugh and say, “Given that she’s a Scorpio she may not tell us exactly what that’s about for her!” This elicits a blush from Lillian but no further information.

“Back to the idea of life as a play and the chart as the details of how the play unfolds. Astrologers see the Moon as mother. If we want to know something about how you see your mother that is where we look.

“Here in Alfred’s chart we find his Moon in the sign of Gemini on the cusp of the 12th house. The actor is mom, the script is Gemini, a talkative sign, and the house is where she lives. The 12th house might represent a world of her own. A mother with a great imagination or fantasy.”

“You know her?” Alfred has a sense of humor about his mother. 

 Janis is often a bit nervous about asking people to expose their lives to one another. She has no doubt however, about it being the best way to learn astrology.  “So that tells us how you see your mother. And eventually it will tell us something about you. Keep in mind, we are not looking at your mother’s chart here, only yours.”

Lillian, raises her hand and waits to be recognized. “Are you saying that you can look at a person’s Moon sign and see their mother complex?”

“You bet,” Janis says. “I suspect Jung was a bit of an astrologer, don’t you think?” Lillian is writing furiously and Janis’ question about Jung falls to the ground, a bubble of rhetorical conjecture, where it bursts unnoticed. 

Janis is getting tired and there is still ground to cover. The beeswax candle that she lit at the beginning of class and placed beside her on the coffee table burns pure and golden.  She is energized by its glow.

 “I’d like to make a few suggestions on how to best learn astrology. You could put this in the ‘study habits’ section of the course. I’m sure you want me to recommend books and give you assignments, and I will do some of that. In fact, your assignment for this class is to copy your chart onto the blank wheel in your handouts. But before you do, copy the blank wheel so you can use it for each and every chart you look at. I promise you, you will be a better astrologer if you do this rather than only looking at what the computer spits out.

“Having said that, I don’t really care which books you read and I won’t check if you did the homework. One of the cornerstones of Silver River is that we know that the things we teach are not considered required subjects by the larger world. This is generally true of occult subjects. They are hidden. You only come here if you want to and only your motivation will keep you here. 

“What astrology shows me about learning is that everyone has Mercury, the planet of how you learn, some place in their chart. The placement suggests how they could best approach a subject. We will look into that for each of you. Many of us have been badly educated. We have been led to believe that learning means reading books, taking notes and regurgitating information on a test. Maybe to accomplish learning we have to own or embody the ideas. Maybe what constitutes learning is quite unique to each person. But whatever it is, I believe it requires more than just taking. You have to give something to it as well. ”

Janis notices heads nodding in affirmation of what she is saying. “What I want you to do is to take notes on the people you know. You should set up as many charts as you can. Copy them on to the blank wheel and then the fun begins. Observe what you see on the paper compared with what you know of the person. Ask them questions. Interview them. There is no better way to learn astrology than to apply it to what you already know. And everyone loves to tell their story.

“Another good way to sharpen your astrological mind is to imagine what sign a person you see on the subway or in a movie might be. Then ask yourself why you thought that. One thing I can say for sure is that since I started doing astrology I have not been bored. Not for over thirty-five years.” 

Janis remembers the boredom of her early employment. Working at receptionist jobs sometimes with the designation of secretary and hating it. Falling asleep at her desk. Responding rudely to situations she didn’t care to understand. At best, she tried to see it as meditation. It was back in the days of consciousness raising. Yoga was a new thing. Breathing was the secret remedy for all problems. She remembers telling herself it didn’t really matter what she did as long as she was aware of what she was doing in any given moment. Knowing she was rationalizing. Mostly they would fire her with or without rancor. Astrology was the blessing.

“Now let me say a little bit about fate. Fate, free will, and astrology. This is not astrological theory, per se. This is how I see things. But you might as well know the truth of that!

“It is quite possible that we have an unlimited number of possible futures. Given that we astrologers are in the business of helping people navigate their futures, this may sound like a cop out. I don’t always get it right when someone will get married. And I have never predicted a lottery win. The past is done. I once heard Leonard Cohen say in an interview that you could read the book of your life but you wouldn’t be able to change a word. I thought he was talking about astrology; this describes it so well. The future is non-existent. In fact, both past and future exist only in the mind. We could call the past, fate, and the future, destiny. The present is always what is actually happening. It’s a very short span of time, something like fifteen seconds. It is amazing that we are meeting in this moment. 

“This is sort of basic mystical belief 101. How astrology fits in is that if you are willing to be in the present then you can use it to reflect on the moment with great insight. This insight can help set you free of old patterns and therefore open up some of those unlimited possible futures. Most of us are only aimed at the future which our past determines. But even so, you will never be able to fly by flapping your wings… Let’s look at an example.”

Janis brings up Sophie’s chart.

“We might say that she is a person who was invisible to her father when she was young because her Sun, which often represents our relationship with our father, is in her 12th house which is a place where things get easily lost. I may infer from that, that she feels like no one gets who she is, especially those who should appreciate her special talents.  On account of that she may miss creative opportunities and avoid taking the risk to be seen.”

Sophie acknowledges that this is true by nodding her head. Her eyes have a rabbit-in-the-headlights quality but there is a small smile playing about her curved mouth. Janis notices how beautiful she is, how finely made. Just what you would expect from a Virgo with Libra rising. This beauty is hidden inside the baggy sweatshirt and ragged hair. But not really.

“If I can show her how that shapes the choices she makes, she may be able to make other choices. Choices that would use this very same energy in a different way. That would be free will. As good as it gets. People generally want to blame their circumstances on something. You might call it cause and effect. But, it is entirely possible that events and situations, even accidents, aren’t really meant to happen. Rather they do happen and then it is a human need to give meaning to the experience so it must be put in some context. Until you had that accident you potentially might have used that energy in a different way. So fate is really your past: the thing you cannot change. Our job as astrologers is to help wake people up to their fate so they can live fully in the present.  Janis is fully aware of the irony of how difficult this is for her even as she delivers this deeply cherished concept.

“Just so you don’t get a swelled head or anything, astrology is one of many paths that can help a person awaken. It is a navigational tool that can help us get where we are going by allowing us to contemplate where we are.”

Sophie leans toward Janis and says, “So if I was conditioned to feel invisible about my unique abilities and that makes me shy in groups, how can I change that?” She is not learning astrology here, she is learning Sophie. This is the best way to learn astrology. Janis is happy. 

“To answer that I have to put on my counseling hat. There is nothing inherent in astrology that tells you what to do. It simply reflects the pattern. This is where life experience and counseling skills are going to be useful. We’ll have lots more to say about this when we get to the Virgo class. Many of the keys to understanding this are to be found in understanding the meaning of Virgo. You need to become aware of who you are and how you feel when you are alone. What you like to do, or make. The more comfortable you get with that, the easier it will be to share it with the right people. The 12th house is where you go to be alone.”

Sophie leans back into the couch as if closing the windows and pulling down the blinds as she retreats instinctively into her 12th house. Janis is tempted to point this out but knows it is too early in the game. She might feel exposed which is a terrible thing to do to a 12th houser.

Morgan raises her hand, “Janis, is there a difference between a sign and a constellation? I got into this argument with someone about this and I had to back down because I didn’t know.” Morgan is the first member of the class to use Janis’ name, to see her as a fellow human. Janis appreciates this.

“Well, thanks for opening that can of worms!” Janis looks at the clock and the candle. This topic could take hours or minutes depending on who asks what. She dives in. “The answer is yes, there is a difference.” Janis sits down, turns out one of the lights and places the beeswax candle on the table in the middle of their circle.

“Our ancestors took the sky for granted back in the early days. They saw it as a fixed backdrop and the planets as wanderers across that fixedness. As the years passed they told the same stories about, what they called, ‘the fixed stars’. One of the favorites was about Orion, who you may have seen in the night sky. His belt is easy to spot and one can make out that he is a mighty hunter god. Someone you could count on because, unlike a capricious planet, he did not move or change shape. Until someone noticed that he was in fact moving. His foot, usually on the horizon at the same time every year was slowly, very slowly, sinking below the horizon on that very special day. Which, I think, was the first day of spring.  Suddenly this god whose power kept them safe was slipping into some kind of whirlpool. You can imagine the kind of panic that might have gripped the sky watchers. It wasn’t as if their favorite TV show was being cut; it was God Himself. A mighty flood was rising in the heavens and the world was no longer a predictable and stable place. Over many hundreds of years the constellation of Orion slipped further and further away from its seemingly original place and, human nature being what it is and has always been, people felt compelled to understand what was happening. It is conceivable that this is the origin of mathematics, astronomy, and even psychology. You might read a book called Hamlet’s Mill or Bernadette Brady’s book on the fixed stars.   

“Eventually people learned that for some reason the constellations seem to slip backwards around the earth. This is because the earth is tilted at a 23 degree angle. I’m sure you have heard about this; it is why we have seasons. These realizations seem to have been a turning point for the human race. 

“The zodiac consists of the twelve constellations that follow the same path across the sky which is also the path that the Sun takes across the sky, each and every day. This path is called the ecliptic. The planets and the Moon also follow this path. You all know the names of these constellations: Aries, Taurus, Gemini, and so on.

“That part was very long ago. In a more recent time it could be seen that on the first day of spring, a very important day, Aries was the constellation that was in the sky with the rising sun. Due to precession, this unnerving slippage of constellations, those days eventually came to an end. But the first day of spring is still the first day of spring, the day when light and dark are equally balanced and the day that signals the time of the year when light begins to overtake darkness.  No matter what constellation is there, the meaning of Aries takes its identity from the season it heralds. When astrologers say something is in Aries we mean it’s at the place where the Sun is on the first day of spring. When we say something is in Cancer we mean it’s where the Sun is on the first day of summer. No matter which constellation is behind the Sun.  But we aren’t blind to the fact of precession. We acknowledge it by saying this is the age of, let’s say Pisces, and we are turning the corner into the Age of Aquarius.” 

Teaching this is a challenge. The time frame is so large as to be meaningless. The information is not easily grasped and even after all these years of her own awareness of these things Janis feels she is on shaky ground as she delivers the information. Even so, she presses on.

“It takes the Zodiac about 24,000 years to slip once around the earth and back to a starting point. It’s called a Cosmic Year. In that year there are 12 Cosmic Months which we call ages. The age of Pisces is the Cosmic Month of about 2000 years that has the sign of Pisces rising on the first day of spring. The Age of Aquarius is the time when the constellation of Aquarius will be the one to rise. 

Morgan nods her head. She wants to say something but she hesitates, not knowing what it is. Instead she laughs and says only, “Thank you.”

There is more. Janis continues, “That is the difference between a constellation and a sign. You can forget about it, or you can muse on it. I am not an astronomer and I do not want to burden you with all that this may mean. As you become more advanced we can go over this again. What’s important to know is that there is a difference. It doesn’t invalidate the kind of astrology we do which is called geocentric; as in, from the perspective of earth. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

“And that’s the end of our first class. See you next time.” Janis switches on the light and replaces the candle to the table next to her chair. 

“That’s a lot to think about,” Morgan says. 

“This is the hardest class. The ice breaker,” replies Janis. “We will be learning the basics of astrology from here on. It will be more straightforward.”

“One more question?” Olivia half raises her hand.

Janis turns toward her remembering she is a Taurus but forgetting her name. It will come.

 “Could you say something about the Old Lady? It seems we are supposed to visit with her but I can’t find any information about how to do that. I don’t even know how I know about her. But it seems like we all heard something.”

Janis looks down at her notes then up, taking in the entire group.

“There are things in life and especially in art, that no one tells you, things you have to learn for yourself. In the old days, before the entire world had been discovered, map makers would draw the known world and on the edges of the map they would write “here there be dragons”.

“Don’t forget that you have ‘Aptitudes’ Class with Dr. Chalcedon next week. And make sure to do your homework, even if there is no test.”

There is a moment, after the last person leaves, when Janis closes the door and the house is quiet. Just her and the cat. The room is in disarray with cups of half-drunk tea, crumbs from snacks and pillows on the floor. She loves this feeling, the way the silence blankets her mind as she straightens the room and returns it to its usual form. She enjoys unplugging the projector and allowing it to cool down, washing out the cups, sweeping the floor and smudging the space with sage. It’s a meditation. Once it’s done her nervous system is restored and she is ready to go upstairs and continue the sense of ritual as she prepares herself for sleep.

Chapter 4: Alfred Visits Helene

It’s breakfast on Palmerston. The homey smell of toast and coffee conjures a good feeling. Breakfast was the only meal his family didn’t eat at their restaurant.

“How do you want your eggs?” Alfred reaches into the fridge to extract the carton, his body thrumming with proximity to Morgan. He’s never had a roommate before. The intimacy of it is confusing and maddening to his general sense of aloofness.

“Whatever you’re making is fine with me. A little protein means I don’t have to think about lunch too soon.”

The cracked egg lands like a perfect yellow planet enveloped by white space. For a moment Alfred is lost in the perfection of yolk and white, seeing a world, a universe in the mixing bowl.

“I think it’s time for me to visit the Old Lady,” Alfred hopes Morgan isn’t reading his mind because part of the reason he thinks he is ready is because he can’t sort through his feelings for Morgan. He has never felt this way. It’s as though his center of gravity suddenly belongs to someone else, who is oblivious to his desire. Heartlessly he breaks the yolk and beats the momentarily perfect universe to a froth.

“Oh that’s great. I’m so glad to hear it. Do you want me to come with? I have already been there once.”

“Oh, no. No. I think I should go on my own. It’s that sort of thing. But maybe you could help me figure out how to get there. It all sounds so vague to me. Like rumors.”

“Rumors?” Morgan reaches for the honey to put in her coffee, across from where Alfred stands making the eggs.

“You know, the way you hear someone say something about something and even though it’s sort of flimsy you kind of believe it.”

“Oh, I get it. That’s funny. What rumors have you heard?”

“Well for one thing Len couldn’t find her. I think Olivia said they went together and she got in but he didn’t.” Alfred is an expert at transferring the eggs to the plates and carrying them to the table.

“Ouch,” Morgan, now seated at the small wooden kitchen table sits up straighter, “that must have been hard on him. He’s always so sure of himself.”

“Leo confidence. I think it’s bluster. Hard to see what’s underneath. Anyway that may be part of why I want to go alone. If I get rebuffed I would feel less awful if I didn’t have to deal with you getting in.” He slides into his seat across from her with a self-deprecating smile.

“Good coffee”, Morgan takes another sip. “Don’t worry. You’re not a bit like Len. I’m not sure exactly how it works but it seems like the most important thing is to have a genuine question; from the heart.”

Checking off his invisible ‘to do’ list, Alfred says, ‘I have that.’

Morgan continues without breaching the space between knowing Alfred has a question and asking what it might be. She nods at the yellow fluff of eggs on her plate and continues.

“Once you have the right intention the rest is to set about looking for signs written on the wind. Hunches, prompts. It’s fun.” She looks at him, taking in his studious, serious expression, and earnest eyes. “It’s a bit like solving an advanced math problem. Theoretical. The formula reveals itself with each clue.”

“Oh, I can do that. I guess I’ll go this evening. I don’t have anything else to do.”

Standing to clear her breakfast dishes, Morgan reaches across the table and places her hand on Alfred’s arm for a micro second in real time, an eternity for him.

“I’m so excited for you. I’ll want to hear about it. The getting there. You don’t share the being there, I think. Not that anyone ever said so but it seems like a very private thing. And you can ask her anything.”

At the sink, which might have been new in the 1970s, Morgan washes her dishes and stacks them in the drying rack.

“I’m off to see what I can make of my sister’s horoscope. I think she has absolutely no earth. And me: a Taurus. Might explain everything. See you later.”

Alone in the apartment, Alfred stretches. His body feels as though he was in some kind of compressor. Hiding his thoughts from Morgan takes a toll. He has learned a lot since starting at Silver River. Before coming here he never would have noticed how his emotions impact his body. His only real awareness of his body came through his martial arts training. Alfred knows how to find his center and steady himself around it, but this taught him next to nothing about his feelings. He wonders if he is like a book that someone could read, but he doesn’t care to focus on that just now.

Instead he puts his mind on an experiment for Alchemy class. After that he will work on his visit. He’s going to solve the equation: Alfred + questions = Old Lady.  

Alfred sets out to find Helene. He wanders along College Street. He looks in the window of a store full of travel posters and sees a wooly mountain sheep. This makes him think of his grandmother, who was an avid knitter. He turns south and finds himself on Queen Street West looking in the window of Romni Wools. He remembers this store from an earlier walk when it occurred to him he might find a gift for her here.  Seeing a sweater that could be something she knitted, Alfred remembers her hands knitting as she told him stories of her childhood in Cuba. He loved these stories told to him by his grandmother, his mother’s mother. She always seemed so old and tiny to him, even at eleven, he was taller than she was and he was not tall. He still isn’t, but he is strong. He figures strong and tall sort of cancel each other out. And, he is fast. He never looks for a fight. But his grandma did. She spoke in a high-pitched, shrill voice and would take after him if he put his fingers in the food or stepped on a clean floor with a dirty shoe. She only seemed to settle down when she made things and she made lots of different things. After becoming somewhat proficient in Kung Fu he remembers thinking that knitting was his grandmother’s martial art. He would watch her gathering her forces as she poked and twirled the stitches, and putting them aside just before she would attempt to slap him upside the head. Maybe she was his first teacher of martial arts. Maybe she was an ‘Old Lady’ too.

Given that he is on his way to visit the ‘Old Lady’ he considers that this reminder of his grandmother must be a sign that he is on the right track.

Lost in his musings he continues along Queen Street and comes to the Tibet store, a store filled with things made by hand by mountain people. His grandmother wasn’t from the mountains, but she was far away from home just like the Tibetans were, and the things she made were Cuban.  Reds and oranges, bright colors stitched across aprons and slippers.

Without realizing what he’s doing, Alfred enters the Tibetan store. He fingers the sweaters, taps the singing bowl, inhales the scent of unborn, unburned incense. Aromas in potential. He likes this notion. The unmanifest scent. Definitely something for alchemy class.

As he makes his way toward the back of the store where the shop keeper should be, he notices a door on the left side, where the fitting room is. But, it’s not exactly a fitting room.

There is a door and on it a doorknocker in the shape of a dragonfly. This, he seems to remember, is the one sure sign of The Old Lady’s dwelling place. Could it be she lives at the back of this tiny store on Queen Street West? He looks for the shop keeper who he does not see. He knocks.

For what seems like a long moment, nothing happens. He is about to turn away, thinking what a jerk he is to think she could be here, and that it could be so easy to find her.

The door is opened by an old woman. She’s not hunched over and she has way more hair on her head than the picture in his mind that he wasn’t even aware that he had conjured. Doesn’t look a day over one hundred and fifty. Alfred smiles at his joke and he hopes it makes him look friendly, and not mocking. He’s nervous.

She opens the door wide and smiles back at him. “I’m Helene. And you must be…”

“Alfred. I’m Alfred. Thank you.”

Alfred has this way of classifying the world around him when he’s nervous. Putting things into categories like drawers in his mind so they cannot hurt him or worse, surprise him. Only when he’s nervous. Other times he likes to be surprised.

“Feel free to look around. It’s okay to be curious. Would you like some tea?” The old lady is making him comfortable.

Inside, he walks around the main room. He was expecting cats and antimacassars, two hundred years’ worth of furniture, dark and claustrophobic. It’s an airy room. There is a big window at the back, and lots of light. Against the wall, away from the window is a table with photos of people and places. And yes, there is a ginger cat, but only one.

 Helene returns with the tea on a tray. “Let’s sit back here in the sunroom.”

She seems like a regular person. The blue veins on her hand are raised in the wrinkled skin, reminding him of his grandmother’s hands. Even her clothes seem like something Granny would have worn. A thin blue sweater and comfy loose pants. No capes or funny hats. Alfred’s mind switches from his grandmother to Granny Weatherwax, the smart witch from Disc World. He has read every book Terry Pratchett ever wrote. He knows about witches.

Helene laughs. “I guess I don’t look like a two hundred year old woman, do I?”

Alfred blushes, blinks his dark eyes wide, caught in the headlights of his own thoughts.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help wondering…”

“Oh, don’t worry. I know how it goes. I won’t pop you in the oven either.”

He laughs and takes a cookie off the plate. As she pours the tea from the green, cast iron pot covered in images of dragonflies she says, ”I don’t suppose you are in the habit of consulting the ancients about your inmost questions?”

“Am I supposed to ask you a question? Do you already know what it is? Maybe you could tell me. What’s the cat’s name?”

“Pantilimon.”

“Oh. Like the demon in the Golden Compass? I love those books!” Pan weaves around Alfred’s legs, butting his head for a scratch. Helene leans back in her chair and gazes out the window at the late summer sun, spreading its liquid light on the green trees towering over her tiny back yard.

“Some days it seems to me that to be human is to question,” Helene says. “We walk through the world like a bunch of unanswered questions: Who am I? Why am I the way I am? How come I feel this or am interested in that? And maybe most painfully, Why did I do or not do something? Just being here is asking a question. So, no, I don’t know what your question is in any specific way. And there is nothing you are supposed to do here.”

Alfred’s shoulders drop. He hadn’t realized he was carrying such a weight but he appreciates letting it go. “You remind me of my granny. Except you’re way more chill.”

“Funny how ‘old’ is a generic state, sort of like infancy. At least visually. Old folks seem to blend into one small, wrinkled, gray-haired old person.”

Alfred comes to attention, and opens his mouth to apologize for his ignorance, but Helene gets there first.

“No, it’s not a bad thing. I’m not insulted. It suggests to me that we somehow move into the shadows and become closer to the archetypes. I am old. When you see me, or sit with me you somehow have to engage the notion of your own ageing and then dying. Exactly because you have or had a granny and she inevitable will pass. Just as you will one day. I quite enjoy this stage. Despite the obvious, and not so obvious, physical restrictions. Janis calls it the ‘living ancestor’ stage of life. I am between the worlds and you, so fully in the world, must take notice of that.”

A tingle of electricity rises along Alfred’s spine. He says, “I don’t know what to do with my feelings. Do you?”

The question falls on them like a veil shrouding them in mist. The room becomes quiet, the cat becomes still. Alfred straightens his spine and Helene’s eyelids draw down like curtains as she lowers her gaze. They sit. At first it seems awkward. Alfred wants to squirm in his seat. His body knows better. He, too is still. He becomes aware of his breath. And the stillness, at first so uncomfortable, cloaks him in a kind of permission to explore his inner world; the world of feelings.

They sit for what might be five minutes or an eternity. Alfred has felt this sense of dissolving into oneness during meditation periods, but never quite like this. He senses that he received a teaching but he does not know what it was. When he opens his eyes, Helene is gone and he discovers himself at the back of the store, not sure what is a dream and if there is even such a thing as reality. 

Later, reflecting upon his experience it’s as though he is unpacking a gift of awareness about the nature of feelings. They are there and they are gone like waves in the water of the Atlantic Ocean that he grew up beside, maybe even the smaller ones here in Lake Ontario. They leave you with something when they are gone. He speculates that it may take him his whole life to figure out what that something is.

 Chapter 5: Aptitudes Class

Sophie sits on the patio at a café just west of Bathurst, on Bloor, waiting for class to begin. It’s too early to show up yet. She’s thinking about the stuff Janis said about her chart the other night. Am I shy? I spend so much damn time avoiding people but I never thought I was shy.

She sees Peggy walking by, also early.

‘Hey Peggy!” Sophie calls. “Would you like to join me?” Usually she would have let Peggy walk by and not have said anything. Maybe Janis is right. Once you see a pattern in yourself you get to make more choices about how you act. She likes Peggy. Someone who has been an art teacher for all those years might know some interesting things.

Peggy purchases a cup of tea and joins Sophie at her little round table.

“Ready for Aptitudes class? Whatever that means. It’s kind of weird how they say it’s an Elective but it’s required, isn’t it?”

“It’s just one more of the paradoxes of Silver River, I suspect.” Peggy shakes her head as she stirs her tea. “I’m not sure I’m ready to hear if I have the gift. It reminds me of the feeling of waiting so see if your artwork is worthy in someone else’s eye. I assume this is about how to look for aptitude in occult or metaphysical studies.” Looking Sophie in the eye, she leans back a little in her chair, allowing a bit of distance as if to say that Sophie can respond to what she is about to say; or not. “How did it feel in Astrology class to be the example the other night? I guess we’ll all get there sooner or later.”

Her words hit the place that Sophie has been probing. “I guess I felt on the spot but I was also really interested in how she got there. It was pretty right on, what she said.” Feeling a bit bold she meets Peggy’s gaze and says, “Maybe we need a class for how to be in class. Are you worried that you might not have an aptitude? That’s what I was thinking. What if the prof tells me I have no aptitude? Would I just quit? I would hate that.”

Enjoying their morning cups of tea and the easy feeling their new friendship offers they chat for a while, finish up and head toward the location of class.

“I don’t know if I wish there was one place for our classes or not.” Peggy muses. “It’s kind of fun to explore places I have never been. Have you ever been to this place?”

Sophie looks at the piece of paper with the address. “670 Bloor St. West? Not that I know of. I think it’s some kind of Buddhist meditation center. It has a great name. Shambhala. Makes me think of Shangri-La.” She giggles and Peggy joins in, saying “I guess this is a Shangri-La adventure we are on, isn’t it?”

Arriving at the address, they are dismayed to discover they have to walk up three flights of stairs of unrelenting grey and metal. Shangri-La suddenly doesn’t seem so inviting. At the top, they open an unassuming door onto a large open space with lots of windows. The morning sun illuminates the room which is populated with comfortable chairs and pillows, and their fellow students.

“We were wondering where you were,” says Morgan, inviting them into the circle with a welcoming smile. As they settle into their circle a figure ambles in from the back of the studio.

Peggy smiles to herself as she doodles the words Shambhala and shambolic. This Professor Chalcedon who is teaching this class is quite like a disheveled bear in his appearance. As her doodle grows, it becomes a bear facing a snow topped mountain. Peggy knows she will never see him any other way. Professor Bear, to her.  

Without preamble or introduction he speaks to them. “How many of you, when considering this class, worried if you had an aptitude or not?” Hands raise. “Well, you can relax. Your interest is probably in direct proportion to your aptitude. Although some of you may need to work harder than others to get where you’re going.”

As he gazes out at the students from under bushy eyebrows each of them has a sense of being seen, personally by him. For some this is reassuring, for others a bit unnerving. Chalcedon continues, “This class is about fear. We might call it an exploration of what kinds of things block your aptitude. But if we called the class “Fear”, you might not show up, eh?” He chuckles to himself as if he has heard this joke before. Indeed, he has said it to each new batch of students who come to Silver River.

“Who is drawn to the oracular life? In truth it is somewhat inexplicable,” admits Chalcedon, smiling with a twinkle in his eyes. “What makes the difference between someone who is drawn this way and someone who isn’t? Why are some seekers and others barely aware that there is anything to be sought?”

Alfred relaxes into his chair, enjoying participating in a riddle. Lillian sits up straighter, interested but not quite comfortable with riddles.

By the way, I am Professor Chalcedon. PC if you need a shortcut. You probably knew that already. You know one another by now and I have seen your horoscopes so I say we should just dive in. Any objections?”

He continues, into the silence. “The oracle at Delphi supposedly wrote her prophecies on oak leaves. She would leave them at the mouth of her cave. If you were fortunate you might arrive while they were still in order, but once the wind blew them, you were on your own to figure out what went where.” As he speaks, a breeze seems to move around them, stirring loose pages in notebooks and causing Olivia to breathe in sharply. A question peeks out at her but vanishes before she has a chance to raise her hand. She has a tingling sensation of stepping into something inviting and unknown even as she retrieves the paper that blew off her lap and onto the floor.

“She clearly had some affinity for chaos. It is said that the oracle would never put them back in order. It was up to the seeker to see if a fragment could lead to a truth.”

Len and Sophie speak at the same time.

Len says, “I hate that kind of vague B.S.! The thing I want is practical. I want to help people achieve their goals, not confuse them!”

Sophie says, “It’s like when you wake from a dream in the night and think you’ll remember it. But if you don’t write it down right then you only have incoherent pieces in the morning; if anything.”

Chalcedon laughs, having heard both responses.

“Len, there are lots of ways to help people achieve their goals. Why do you think you are choosing such a left-handed path?”

Len can’t say. He hesitates, then he remembers something. “My sister went to an astrologer and it changed her life. One day she was doing all the wrong things and then she was suddenly on the right track. Nothing anyone had tried to say to her had made a dent before that.”

Chalcedon looks out the window of this small room on the third floor overlooking Bloor Street. He notices what has become the pale light of an overcast day. It’s as though he can see the future; how trees will lose their leaves and sleep in winter. Cycles of time unfolding around and within us, even as we are asleep to its hurdy gurdy. The end of year will inevitably come with its dreary, weary tones and once again, turn into the promise of spring. He says nothing.

In the pause Morgan speaks, “People come for all sorts of reasons, don’t they? And maybe you could see what they are if you look at their astrology charts.”

Chalcedon, having fully returned from wherever he was, smiles. “Let’s think about some reasons. And yes, of course, we could speculate on which ones might apply, based on the charts. You might have a project for yourself there.

“One reason that draws people to occult arts is power. There are different kinds of power, of course. There is power over others, there could be power over the self, and then there is empowerment – a much nicer word somehow.

“Some people feel they have always lived in the shadows. There are different kinds of shadows and different things people do with them. One way or another it’s probably true that just about anyone who takes a left-handed path gets there on account of their own suffering. Nothing is more powerful for opening the gates to the underworld than pain, loss or grief. These things pull us in and down. For most, the goal is to get out as soon as they can but for some, once they are there it is kind of interesting. In fact, there might be more here than meets the eye.” Here he pauses, allowing a moment of silence to underscore what he says next.

“Maybe to live on the surface of reality, knowing that these things that can pull a life down, or drag it off to the other world so randomly are always lurking is unacceptable. Maybe it’s better to learn the landscape rather than avoid it, which requires putting a lot of useless effort towards suppression.”

Chalcedon looks around at this group of spelunkers. He can imagine them with headlamps and cleats on their shoes to grip the ice. He says with a smile, “People who are fascinated with the underworld might be said to come in two packages. The ones who think that it’s mostly other people who need guidance down in the depths. These are the heroes, and often the deniers of their own suffering. Then there are the rest of you: who acknowledge the journey for yourself as well as others you meet along the way who might benefit from your insights. Each of these categories needs tools and skills, such as how to read a horoscope. The first group will do more damage than good, although perhaps they will have a larger income, at least for a while.”

Looking first at Len and then at Alfred for an uncomfortable moment of silence as if to access their inner reasons for being here, Chalcedon continues. “It’s easier for men to fall into the trap of seeing themselves as underworld heroes. Think of all those compelling underworld characters we see in the movies; “the antiheros” we used to call them in the study of literature. Of course, to generalize is silly and useless. What’s important is for you to be aware of who you’re dealing with and more importantly which group you fall into.”

Len is stuck on the notion of choice, unaware of the gauntlet that has been thrown at his feet regarding which kind of man he might be. “I haven’t chosen anything. I am only investigating.” The whine in his voice makes it seem that he has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Choice is an interesting thing,” Chalcedon looks around for his chair and sits down. “Even if you think you haven’t made a choice, you will never be able to unlearn what you learn here, eh? It’s not always obvious where our choices begin.”

“So if I look at my chart can I tell if this choice you’re saying I made will stick?” Len sets his jaw.

Chalcedon is ready for him, “You mean are Leos such as yourself more prone to disowning their suffering?”

Len shuffles in his seat and starts to say something. He never considered that his chart was known to anyone besides Janis.

“Only joking,” Chalcedon winks. “It’s a good question and I believe the answer is no. There seems to be an X-factor in a natal chart which has to do with this kind of thing. Maybe it’s free will, but people seem to make these choices from a place deep inside. You could call it the soul, but I’m not sure about that.

“In your second year you may study horary astrology. It allows you to cast a chart for a question in the moment and it will tell you without a doubt if the question is radical, or worthy of reading. If it’s judged as not worthy this indicates that you are somehow not doing what you think, or the person is not who they seem or possibly the question is not the right one to be asking.” Unbeknownst to this group of students, Chalcedon is one of the foremost experts of horary astrology in the world. This Aptitude class is the only one he teaches for first year students. He figures it’s never too soon to plant seeds for what he loves more than anything: to read the moment.

Sophie raises her hand and speaks without waiting to be called, “So all these aptitudes you’re talking about are interesting but is there an astrological aptitude? Can you look into a chart and see if a person has a specific aptitude for being an astrologer or a medium or anything?”

Chalcedon’s amusement is obvious as his bushy eyebrows raise. He looks out over his glasses with a smile. “I think almost any astrologer will tell you that the thing that makes a “good” astrologer is the thing they see in their chart which they think makes them a good astrologer. It’s quite funny. The Aquarian thinks it’s because they are brilliant conceptually. The Taurus thinks astrology is eminently practical. Virgos, since you asked, think it’s because there is a place for everything in astrology and they love to fit the pieces together. Myself? I can see each one as valid. Being that I was born under the sign of Capricorn, I think that I am most qualified because astrology is so powerful it requires efficient and responsible people to use it properly.”

“That’s funny,” Sophie responds as if they are alone in the room. “So then we have to choose what to do with what we got?”

“Well said, and yes, always.” Chalcedon pauses as he takes a sip of water from the glass beside his chair. “Given that you have such a strong 12th house which is quite mediumistic, combined with Virgo planets inhabiting it we might surmise that you have quite a gift for analysis of things that are not obvious to others. From that we can see the kind of healer or astrologer you will be if you choose to walk that path. By the same token, so to say, you could take these same qualities and turn them into high anxiety and perseveration on the minutiae of everyday life.”

“No matter what class we’re in, it always comes back to that thing about choosing what you do with what you’ve got, doesn’t it?” Len interrupts and the atmosphere returns to a classroom inhabited by a group of people. “If a Leo chooses to walk this path of occult practice what kind of aptitude might they have?”

Recognizing that Len is speaking from a taproot deep within himself, Chalcedon gives his full attention to the question even as he cannot resist saying, with a bit of mischief, “Leos always enjoy telling people what to do.” A chuckle works its way around the room as he continues, “But it’s never just the Sun sign that determines this kind of thing. You have to look at the whole chart. As well you might keep asking: Why am I here? What do I find interesting right now? And, you can’t be afraid of the answers.”

“Are you asking me?” Len squirms in his seat. As he looks around at the others he somehow becomes aware that they are a small group of people, sitting in a circle, in a room of a morning. His gaze lifts toward the windows where the sun is making its daily way across the sky in the south and although he can’t see them yet, dark clouds ride slowly across the northern sky.

Having recently noticed the same sky and the same sun Professor Chalcedon is reassured that as confused as Len seems, his aptitude will reveal itself sooner or later. With a satisfied chuckle he turns toward the class and suggests a short exercise.

“How about we do this: get your notebook ready if it isn’t yet, keep your pen at hand and let your eyelids drop.” His voice takes on a measured, hypnotic rhythm and even the most jittery of the students, drop their shoulders and allow their eyelids to close: Len with his self-doubt, Olivia with her unanswered, still not quite understood question, Lillian, caught between wanting to be good at this and thinking it’s ridiculous. “Now, listen. Listen to the stillness.” He pauses and where there were words, ideas, challenges, and tensions, now there seems to be a blanket of stillness over the room. Is this magic? Or simply deep relaxation.

Chalcedon continues, “Using your inner ear, you find that you are able to hear your inner voice. What is it saying to you?” As he speaks his eyelids drop, along with his shoulders and it is clear he too is listening.

“Now ask: what do I fear in this world of occult power, information, skill, and exploration? What makes me hesitate?”

After a pause and the sound of one person’s gentle snore he brings them out of their reverie. Telling them to open their eyes and write down what they remember of what they heard. After a minute he asks them to share. “You understand of course, that although each of you may feel your particular message is unique, fear is just fear and your insight may be useful to someone else. So no need to be shy.” To himself he thinks, This is only the beginning, kids.

Sophie says, “I fear being overtaken by inner voices.”

Alfred follows with, “Misusing power or being misused by it.”

Olivia in her characteristic whisper, both quiet and forceful, says, “Being judged for saying the wrong thing. Or, even worse, saying the wrong thing.”

Morgan says, “Missing something important.”

Peggy, amazed at having actually heard her inner voice says, “Mistaking my own opinion for higher wisdom.”

Into the quiet that follows this as each person absorbs the statements of the others, Lillian speaks, “I am afraid of being manipulative because I’m talking too much and not listening. I fear the dangers in things so obscure and therefore easily misinterpreted. As well I fear counter transference and people misquoting me.”

Bringing up the rear, as if considering not saying anything at all, Len adds, “Making a fool of myself.”

Chalcedon nods. “I hope you wrote down each other’s fears because each and every one of them will arise to meet you as you journey along the Silver River. And believe it or not; this is a good thing. We don’t want to be destroyed by insecurity or doubt, but we could say it’s a hedge against ego inflation. Or, perhaps we should call it a kind of power-tripping arrogance that is always there, nibbling at the edges of these subjects.

“I have enjoyed spending this morning with you. I most likely won’t meet you again unless you choose to study horary next year. Class dismissed.” With that he turns and walks toward the back of the room, from where he appeared at the beginning. In the somewhat stunned silence that Chalcedon leaves in his wake, the room returns what suddenly seems like normal reality. There is lots to discuss.