By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
TAURUS (April 20-May 20)
A few weeks ago I told you it was prime time, astrologically speaking, to visit the Garden of Eden. You may have interpreted that in a metaphorical sense, which was fine, or you may have acted on my hint that paradise has an objectively real existence that's accessible through meditation. In either case, I hope you're still hanging out in those environs, Taurus, because I now have even better news to report. You know the fruit that God once forbade Adam and Eve to try? Amazingly, He has changed His mind. Here's the new covenant, directly from the Supreme Being's lips to your eyes: It's OK to eat the apple.
GEMINI (May 21-June 20)
Your regularly scheduled horoscope will not appear this week so that I may indulge the curious favoritism I've felt toward you Geminis lately. I LOVE YOU. YOU'RE GORGEOUS AND SMART. NO ONE SMELLS AS GOOD AS YOU. There does seem to be ample astrological justification for my seemingly irrational adoration, by the way: The omens suggest you're at the height of your ability to realize precisely what you need most and how to get it. To aid Mother Nature in her work, repeat the following affirmation a hundred times a day for the next week: "I KNOW WHAT TO DO AND I KNOW WHEN TO DO IT!"
The Televisionary Oracle
A Novel by Rob Brezsny
A lusty but sensitive rock star encounters the leader of a goddess - worshiping religious order that values pranks as much as prayers.
Check out Rob's band World Entertainment War.
Want to know more about Rob, or look up past horoscopes? Visit freewillastrology.com.
You can contact Rob at email@example.com.
CANCER (June 21-July 22)
Marketing experts tell me that if my subject is so complex I can't explain it in 15 seconds, it's not worth knowing. But since the intricate, impossible-to-describe subject at hand is you, maybe you'll afford me a little more time. I have it on good authority that you're feeling like a web woven by a drunken spider, like a labyrinth made out of fun-house mirrors, like an unseasoned grocery shopper trying to choose among 19 brands of spaghetti sauce. But take comfort in the words of author John Berger: "Authenticity depends entirely on being faithful to the essential ambiguity of experience." I'd also like to suggest that being confused by messy abundance is more likely to bring you close to God than being dead certain about a few artificially simplistic beliefs.
LEO (July 23-Aug. 22)
We all crave drama in our lives, especially you Leos. Unfortunately, our culture's fetishistic fascination with entropy and suffering makes this need problematic. Unable to summon the resources to pursue more uplifting forms of adventure, many people end up filling their lives with exhausting turbulence. That's the bad news, Leo. The good news is that you can now summon the vibrant imagination and loving support necessary to resist the norm. I exhort you to envision brave exploits that will be fun and redemptive and tremendously exciting.
VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22)
One of my biggest heroes is a Virgo: Molly Ivins, rabble-rousing political columnist and author of the book Molly Ivins Can't Say That, Can She? A while back she wrote a piece in which she marveled at a cosmetic salesperson's claim that a certain skin cream had a "mnemonic component," meaning it would allow her skin cells to remember how they functioned when they were still young. I bring this up, my dears, because the experiences you'll encounter in the coming week will have an analogous effect. They will stimulate you to recall every important thing you have forgotten.
LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22)
Poetry alert! If lyrical flights of fancy make you nervous, please don't read any further. In fact, maybe you shouldn't even go out of the house for the rest of the week, given the likelihood that you will be consistently roused to a state of throbbing exaltation by the world's secret beauty. But if you've read this far, here are your instructions: On a leaf from your favorite tree, write a wish that's difficult for you to ask for. Bury it in the soil as you visualize your wish having already come true. Then leap into the air three times, kick your heels together, and kiss the sky.
SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21)
Today I went to the county dump to unload all the stuff I once valued but haven't used in years. As I backed my truck up to the edge of the chasm and heaved in my obsolete treasures, I spied a sign that read, "Do not jump into the pit." Immediately, I thought of you, Scorpio. I mused on how wise it would be for you to do what I was doing, but also how tempting it might be for you to throw yourself away along with the junk you need to get rid of. But please don't leap into the abyss, my dear. As perversely entertaining as it might be for you to wallow in the morass, no real good would come of it.