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] After studying the astrological omens, I had a psychic vision of you jumping up and down, screaming with joy as if you'd won the lottery. That doesn't mean you actually will win the lottery, though: My visions are usually symbolic, not literal. So what does it mean? It could prophesy the imminent arrival of a welcome surprise, or signify that you'll be visited by an exhilarating revelation of the future. To get yourself in the proper spirit, why not jump up and down and scream for joy right now? Then keep doing it at least twice a day until the breakthrough actually occurs.
GEMINI [May 21–June 20] After my psychic reading in Santa Rosa, I waited in the parking lot for a friend to pick me up. To entertain myself, I watched a robin as it pecked at a small patch of grass nearby. I applauded when it snagged a fat worm for its meal. Minutes later, I cheered and whistled as it found a second worm, then a third. Still, it continued to hunt, and my mood turned. "Aren't you getting greedy?" I said to the robin. It rummaged around fruitlessly for a while, no longer in tune with the grace of the cosmos. The moral of the story, in accordance with your current omens: Be alert for the unexpected abundance packed into a seemingly modest space or situation, but don't keep milking that bounty beyond what you need.
CANCER [June 21–July 22] There's more help available to you right now than you realize. You may have to cure yourself of an illusion in order to connect with it, however. What's the illusion? I suspect it's the misguided belief that you never have enough help! Here's another mini-shocker, Cancerian: You've been making a certain process more difficult than it has to be. If and when you cure yourself of another illusion, everything could very well snap into place. What's that illusion? I suspect it's your (unconscious?) belief that success is more valuable if it's hard and complicated.
LEO [July 23–August 22] It's a perfect moment for you to try the kind of money mojo that worked for one of my readers, Tamara L. of Las Vegas. Here's her testimony: "I never believed in any of this mystical mumbo-jumbo before. But I was desperate. I was paying the price after indulging in the sick pleasure of telling my boss to go to hell. I couldn't pay my bills. What did I have to lose? I took Rob Brezsny's advice and did a financial ritual. I wrote 'I hereby purify my money karma' on a dollar bill, then burned it in the flame of a green candle while wearing a hat made out of The Wall Street Journal and chanting the magic spell 'Money is my servant, not my god.' Within days, I won big at the casino."
VIRGO [August 23–September 22] Surprise! You're not as fragile as you imagined. Now and then—as in the phase you're going through this September—your health will thrive if you push and stretch and test yourself harder than usual. So for the time being, Virgo, I urge you to proceed on the assumption that the most likely way to feel your best is by trying things you've previously considered beyond your capacity.
LIBRA [September 23–October 22] On his Bad News Hughes blog, Patrick Hughes warned his readers never to use a mini–vacuum cleaner to suck up the contents of an ashtray. Speaking from experience, he said the rapid intake of air could reignite waning embers and create a fiery mess. I suggest you make that your metaphor of the week, Libra. It's a good time to clean out your life and throw away all the stuff that's dead to you. Just make sure that whatever you dispose of doesn't contain some smoldering remains that could blow up in your face.
SCORPIO [October 23–November 21] It's Let It Go Week, Scorpio—also known as Just Drop It Week. This is a fertile moment in your astrological cycle, a time when you'll be rewarded with a creative influx if you give up your obsessive hold on things and stop clinging to hardened expectations. So I urge you to summon your most brazen vigor and get yourself as completely unstuck as you dare. And please keep in mind that this should be relaxing fun, not a worrisome ordeal.
SAGITTARIUS [November 22–December 21] Once a year, I hike into the hills above San Anselmo, California, and perform a concert for the trees, birds, insects, clouds, and sun. The show typically consists of 80 minutes' worth of a cappella songs and ecstatic poems, along with my "Dionysian sermons" and "primordial gossip." None of my listeners ever respond with anything resembling applause, but that's fine: It's an exercise in giving without strings attached, simply because it makes me feel good to be generous. I recommend that you find an equivalent approach to bestowing blessings in the coming week.