By Jena Ardell
By Jon Campbell
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Tessa Stuart
By Roy Edroso
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
By Zachary D. Roberts
ARIES [March 21–April 19] Acro-Yoga is a relatively new physical discipline. According to a description I read on a flyer in Santa Cruz, it "blends the spiritual wisdom of yoga, the loving kindness of massage, and the dynamic power of acrobatics." I'd love to see you work on creating a comparable hybrid in the coming months, Aries—some practice or system or approach that would allow you to weave together your various specialties into a synergetic whole.
TAURUS [April 20–May 20] Unless you grow your own or buy the heirloom variety at farmers' markets, you probably eat a lot of tasteless tomatoes. Blame it on industrial-scale farming and supermarket chains. They've bred tomatoes to be homogenous and bland. But there's a sign of hope: A team of scientists at the University of Florida is researching what makes tomatoes taste delicious and is working to bring those types back into mainstream availability. I think the task you have ahead of you in the coming weeks is metaphorically similar. You should see what you can do to restore lost flavor, color, and soulfulness.
GEMINI [May 21–June 20] It'll be a humming, murmuring, whispering kind of week—a time when the clues you need will most likely arrive via ripplings and rustlings. Here's the complication: Some of the people around you might be more attracted to clangs and bangs. They might imagine that the only information worth paying attention to is the stuff that's loudest. But I hope you won't be seduced by their attitudes. I trust you'll resist the appeals of noise.
CANCER [June 21–July 22] Most change is slow and incremental. The shifts happen so gradually that they are barely noticeable while you're living in the midst of them. Then there are those rare times when the way everything fits together mutates pretty quickly. I think you're at one of these junctures now, Cancerian. It's not likely you'll be too surprised by anything that happens, though. That's because you've been tracking the energetic buildup for a while, and it will feel natural when the rapid ripening kicks in.
LEO [July 23–August 22] Lately, you've been spending time in both the off-kilter parts of paradise and the enchanting areas of limbo. On one notable occasion, you even managed to be in both places simultaneously. How'd you do that? The results have been colorful but often paradoxical. What you don't want and what you do want have gotten a bit mixed up. You have had to paw your way out of a dead-end confusion but have also been granted a sublime breakthrough. What will you do for an encore? Hopefully, nothing that complicated. I suggest you spend the next few days chilling out.
VIRGO [August 23–September 22] The painter Philip Guston loved to express himself creatively. He said it helped him to get rid of his certainty, to divest himself of what he knew. By washing away the backlog of old ideas and familiar perspectives, he freed himself to see the world as brand new. In light of your astrological omens, Virgo, Guston's approach sounds like a good strategy. The next couple of weeks will be an excellent time to explore the pleasures of unlearning. You will thrive by discarding stale preconceptions.
LIBRA [September 23–October 22] Nineteenth-century author Charles Dickens wrote extensively about harsh social conditions. He specialized in depicting ugly realities about poverty, crime, and classism. Yet one critic described him as a "genial and loving humorist" who showed that "even in dealing with the darkest scenes and the most degraded characters, genius could still be clean, and mirth could be innocent." I'm thinking that Dickens might be an inspirational role model for you in the coming weeks, Libra. It will be prime time for you to expose difficult truths and agitate for justice and speak up on behalf of those less fortunate.
SCORPIO [October 23–November 21] For many years, ambergris was used as a prime ingredient in perfumes. And where does ambergris come from? It's whale vomit. Sperm whales produce it in their gastrointestinal tracts to protect themselves from the sharp beaks of giant squid they've eaten, then spew it out of their mouths. I challenge you to convert an inelegant aspect of your life into a fine asset.
SAGITTARIUS [November 22–December 21] "Interruption" will be a word of power for you in the coming days. I'm not being ironic, sarcastic, or satirical. It is possible that the interruptions will initially seem inconvenient or undesirable, but I bet you will eventually feel grateful for their intervention. They will knock you out of grooves you need to be knocked out of. They will compel you to pay attention to clues you've been neglecting. Don't think of them as random acts of cosmic whimsy, but rather as divine strokes of luck that are meant to redirect your energy to where it should be.
CAPRICORN [December 22–January 19] You don't have to stand in a provocative pose to be sexy. You don't have to lick your lips or radiate a smoldering gaze or wear clothes that dramatically reveal your body's most appealing qualities. You already know all that stuff; in light of this week's assignment, I just wanted to remind you. And what is that assignment? To be profoundly attractive and alluring without being obvious about it. With that as your strategy, you'll draw to you the exact blessings and benefits you need. So do you have any brilliant notions about how to proceed? Here's one idea: Be utterly at peace with who you really are.