Keeping my Eye on the Ball--A Tale of Forbidden Love By H. Byron Ballard

The cool and heavy presence of it is an invitation to dive deeply, head-first. After years of reading cards – decades, really, I took up scrying a crystal ball. I did it as a lark because we were doing some fundraising for a local Pagan non-profit and lots of people were reading cards. It would make a nice change for the attendees and give folks an option. Something unusual that you don’t find at many “psychic faires.”

And, besides, I told myself, a Witch ought to be able to read a crystal ball.

Many years ago, a good friend who is an interior designer gave me a ball as a gift. He’d found it somewhere and it made him think of me. It came with a footed sheshamwood stand, whose feet are the heads of little dragons. The ball sat on the shelf of my altar table for years. I would trot it out for the occasional public event, whether ritual or lecture. About once every year or two, I’d set it out under the full Moon for a cleansing. But it really didn’t need to be cleansed because it never got “dirty.” I never used it.

I had learned candle-and-mirror scrying in the late 1970s and had played around with scrying in a black bowl filled with water. The technique was interesting to me, but the cards were so familiar. I hardly looked at them once the spread was down and could focus on the person opposite me, the one with the problem or worry or question.

Tap, tap, tap. My finger would reach out along the big spread and I’d touch a card, look the person in the eye and answer the question. Tap--this column is your immediate past. Tap--this one in the center--current events, what’s happening right now. Tap--see these two? We’ll play around in the next six months and see what’s up.

Familiar and comfy, like your best fat jeans.

So between fundraising and idle curiosity, I turned at last to the ball. I removed the silk cloth from it and sat with it at my dining room table. Turning it this way and that, I found myself intrigued by the shape, the wealth of dimension. After decades of shuffling a deck and putting down an array of flat cards, there was something about the upright round crystal. Something unfamiliar and inviting.

My particular ball is about four inches in diameter and has a flaw near the equator. It’s a deep flaw and that may be the reason my friend didn’t want to use it in his interior design studio. But it has wabi-sabi and I like that. I grew up believing that a flaw is necessary in things, to keep from offending either the faeries or the gods. And in my Appalachian world wabi-sabi was easy to come by.

The notion of taking a class on ball-reading didn’t feel right, so I sat down with the ball a lot--to figure out for myself how to do it. Even though I tried to put “The Wizard of Oz” out of my mind, my first few attempts were like watching a movie on a very tiny screen.

At the fundraiser, I explained to my first customer that I was new to this whole gig and asked for her patience. I also promised her a back-up card reading if the ball was a no-go. Taking off my spectacles, I unfocused my eyes slightly and held the ball in my cupped hands.

As I focused on the flaw, images started to appear around it. There was a fireplace and a living area. I described what I was seeing to the woman opposite me and she listened politely. A cat walked into my image and I told her about that. “Which one is it?” she asked, and I described the cat, saying it had gone to the rug and curled up.

She told me the cat’s name and I nodded, still watching the ball. Another cat came into view and I described it, too. It walked past the one on the rug and jumped into the chair near the hearth. My client’s back stiffened. “Is she on the chair?” she demanded. I nodded, sorry to get the cat in trouble. “She knows better than that,” the woman said, shaking her head. “She isn’t peeing in the chair, is she?”

That I could not see. She was disappointed that I couldn’t tell her anything about her future but I think she was pretty impressed that I could see her living room, even if I did tattle on the cat.

I’m still most comfortable with the cards, my old dear friends. The worn deck goes most places with me, especially this time of year. And at Samhain, I always honor the neighbor woman who taught me to read playing cards more than 40 years ago.

I am pleased that this old dog can learn a new trick. The heft and coolness of that ball have a delicious allure. I’m still not adept at scrying it, but I enjoy it very much. So, if you ask me for a reading, you might find me doing both. First the ball and the funny story of your living room. Then the cards to see the truth. Suspenders and belt, maybe, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.