Linda Goodman's Love Signs [antikvár]

Christmas Eve, 1977 a carousel message to Sally There is so much to say, and no way to say it, no way to tell you. Maybe if I try to say some of it here, then somehow, someway, you may read it. You must have jessed I couldn't complete this book until I found you and we bear-hugged again. But now it seems the only way to make the miracle of you manifest is to finish it, so it can be published in time for your next birthday, by Christmas of 1978 for so many reasons I can't fully explain until we're together. And so, I'm going to begin tonight, while it's magical and still and holy, to complete Love Signs — for you. Because Aaron said, before he went away that you would want me to, that it would help so many people and that it would bring you back sooner. Your horoscope and my heart both insisted that what I was told on that terrible December day in 1973 was a lie. As soon as I heard, Michael and I flew to New York to prove it a lie. It was a very lonely faith. At first, everyone but Mike and Aaron thought my judgment had been prejudiced by grief. I could see it in their eyes when they looked at me. But I went right on believing anyway. None of the official "records" seemed real to me. They seemed like the dream, not you. Only what I knew inside was real; so I clung to that, no matter what anyone tried to make me believe. Every day, for the longest time, Mike and Jill and I walked over to St. Patrick's and said a prayer near the statue of Francis of Assisi, just outside the church, among the trees. Once, we left some roses there, and when we went back the next morning, they had miraclized, like the ones I gave you that time remember ? After a while, I proved it wasn't true. I proved it medically and scientifically. My faith was rewarded, the way I used to tell you that faith always is — if you believe long enough and hard enough. Ray Neff and his wife, Gus, who worked with me on the Lincoln research, helped me a lot with the proof I needed. So did Cleve Backster and Padre Anselmo, of the Benedictine Order — in an unusual way I'll tell you about someday. But even proving astrology and my heart had been right all along didn't help me to find you. Maybe completing this book will do that, in some mysterious way. 1 can't forget that the next-to-the-last-time I saw you ^ you were with Marc. Because of astrology's wisdom (and for other reasons too) I believe that was the symbol of an unexpected twin-joy ending to temporary shadows and confusion. For things are not always what they seem, and people are sometimes too willing to believe whatever they are told. Time will tell. Faith bestows awesome miracles upon the faithful. This I know. I thought maybe I could let you know the way it is with me with Dad and Dadoo and Bill and Mike and Jill and Grandma G----with all of us by sending you a message through some paragraphs from Peter Pan, with slight changes to fit this reality. So I'm using James Barrie's words to try to express what we feel. They begin on the next page. There's just this one more thing I wanted to tell you. Over and over since you disappeared, 1 keep dreaming the same dream. About the time I ran away when I was a little girl to St. Raphael's convent on Thirteenth Street, in Par- Foreword Like Peter Pan's shadow, curiosity about astral compatibility follows the astrologer "second from the right and straight on till morning." At every gathering, someone is sure to demand an answer to a question such as: "How does Sagittarius get along with Pisces ?" Typically, on radio and television shows, in newspaper interviews, the astrological professional is invariably confronted with: "My husband is a Leo and I'm an Aquarian. Is that why we fight so much ?" —or: "What's the best sign for Gemini to marry ?" Everyone wants to know the ground rules in the game of mixing and matching Sun Signs. I've even found myself helpless in a dental chair, having a tooth extracted, while the attending doctor remarked, "Not that I believe in astrology, but what are my chances with a Capricorn woman ?" Now, those of you who were once young (and, I hope, still are) know that Tinker Bell told Peter: "Everytime a child says 'I don't believe in faeries,' there is a faerie somewhere who falls down dead." Likewise, everytime someone says, "I don't believe in the stars," there is a human relationship somewhere that falls down dead because of a lack of understanding that could have been gained from a basic knowledge of astrology — and that's not make-believe. It's a fact. There's nothing mysterious about the oldest art and science in the world, unless you choose to call the miracles of love and tolerance that result from using it "mysterious." Semantics aside, it works, whatever you call it. As for those familiar characters in Neverland, Peter Pan and Wendy, although I've used some of their remarks throughout this book to symbolize, at various times, certain characteristics of all twelve astrological signs, Peter's personal Natal Sun was in the Mutable Air Element of Gemini when he was created. Oh, yes! Peter was a Sun Sign Gemini —even though I use particular quotes of his to symbolize other signs in the book, a Sun Sign Gemini he was, who desired never to grow up, searching for something he never quite found, forever destined to be sure only of his own shadow, never of another human being— until, we trust, through eventual enlightenment, he learned at last the lesson of love. Wendy was clearly a Cancerian — motherly, possessive, gentle and imaginative, trying out her wings in a flight of fancy under the Full Moon, as Moon Maidens often do. No strong Sun Sign harmony between them, you see, so they quarreled now and then, and each heard a diflferent drummer. Wendy ended up in the final chapter as nearly all Cancerians do, safe and secure. No matter how wistfully her heart longed to fly again, she chose home, marriage and children as her ultimate dreams; while Peter, like nearly all Geminis, continued his eternal search for a brighter rainbow, somewhere beyond still obsessed by twin desires, longing to settle down with Wendy, yet longing just as fiercely to remain free — and true to himself.