Free Will Astrology: June 23-29, 2010
ARIES [March 21–April 19] A few years ago, a group of artists built a giant bunny out of pink wool. The 200-foot-long effigy will remain there until 2025. But there's a disturbing aspect to this seemingly goofy artifact: It has a wound in its side where its guts are spilling out. That's why I don't recommend that you commune with it. You would definitely benefit from crawling into a fetal position and sucking your thumb while lying in the comfy embrace of a humongous mommy substitute. But you shouldn't tolerate any tricks or jokes that might limit your ability to sink into total peace and relaxation.
TAURUS [April 20–May 20] In 1998, I spent three weeks reading The Psychoanalysis of Fire and The Poetics of Reverie, which were so evocative that I filled up two 120-page journals with my notes. I still refer to them, continuing to draw fresh inspiration from ideas I wasn't ripe enough to fully understand when I first encountered them. You're entering a phase of your astrological cycle when a similar event could happen for you, Taurus: a supercharged educational opportunity that will fuel you for a long time.
GEMINI [May 21–June 20] Congrats, Gemini! You have not only weathered your recent phase of relentless novelty; you've thrived on the adjustments it demanded of you. I am hereby awarding you with the rare and prestigious title of Change-Lover, which I only bestow upon one of the signs of the zodiac every four years or so. So what's next on the schedule? The shock of the new will soon subside, giving you a chance to more fully integrate the fresh approaches you've been adopting. I suggest you relax your hypervigilance and slip into a slower, smoother, more reflective groove.
CANCER [June 21–July 22] Here are the jobs I've done that I wasn't very good at: tapping sap from maple trees in Vermont; toiling as an amusement park ride operator in New Jersey; being a guinea pig for medical experiments in California; and picking olives from trees in the south of France. Do I feel like a failure for being such a mediocre worker and making so little money? No, because I found jobs I was good at, and have been thriving since. Why would I judge myself harshly for having trouble doing things that weren't in synch with my soul's code? Please apply this line of thinking to yourself.
LEO [July 23–August 22] Each year, Playboy magazine publishes a list of the best colleges to go to if you prefer partying to studying. In its recent rankings, a top spot went to the University of Wisconsin, which was dubbed "the best beer-drinking school in the country." As a counterpoint to this helpful information, the Huffington Post offered a compendium of the best anti-party schools. Brigham Young got favorable mention since it has a policy forbidding students from drinking, smoking, and having sex. The University of Chicago was also highly regarded, being "the place where fun goes to die." For the next three weeks, Leo, I recommend that you opt for environments that resemble the latter more than the former. It's time for you to get way down to business, cull the activities that distract you from your main purpose, and cultivate a hell of a lot of gravitas.
VIRGO [August 23–September 22] You're entering a phase of your cycle when cultivating abundance is a smart thing to do. I suggest that you be both extra-generous and extra-receptive to generosity. Bestow more blessings than usual and put yourself in prime positions to gather in more blessings than usual. I realize that the second half of this assignment might be a challenge. You Virgos often feel more comfortable giving than receiving. But I must insist that you attend to both. The giving part won't work quite right unless the receiving part is in full bloom.
LIBRA [September 23–October 22] What have you lost in recent months, Libra? This week begins a phase when will you have the potential to re-create it on a higher level. Maybe a dream that seemed to unravel was simply undergoing a reconfiguration, and now you're primed to give it a new and better form of expression. Maybe a relationship that went astray was merely dying so it could get resurrected, with more honesty and flexibility this time around.
SCORPIO [October 23–November 21] I'm guessing you've been ushered into a frontier that affords you no recognizable power spot. And along comes some wise guy—me—who tells you that you are exactly where you need to be. He says that this wandering outside the magic circle is pregnant with possibilities that could help you make better use of the magic circle when you get back inside. I hope you heed this wise guy and resist the temptation to force yourself back into the heart of the action.
SAGITTARIUS [November 22–December 21] There used to be a tradition in Sweden that young women could dream of the person they would wed if they put seven kinds of flowers beneath their pillows on Midsummer's Eve. That's crazy nonsense, of course. Right? Probably. Although I must note that, two nights ago, I placed a gladiolus, hydrangea, lilac, orchid, snapdragon, tulip, and rose under my pillow, and subsequently dreamed of being visited by the lily-crowned Goddess of Intimacy, who asked me to convey a message to you Sagittarians. She said that if you even just imagine slipping seven flowers under your pillow, you will have a dream about what you should do in order to help your love life evolve to the next stage of its highest potential.
CAPRICORN [December 22–January 19] Have you ripened into such a sophisticated person that you're hard to surprise? Do you draw conclusions about each new experience by comparing it to what has happened to you in the past? I hope not. I hope you're ready to be a wide-eyed, open-armed, wild-hearted explorer. I hope you will invite life to blow your mind. In the days to come, your strongest stance will be that of an innocent virgin who anticipates an interesting future. Blessings you can't imagine will visit you if you'll excuse yourself from outdated expectations and irrelevant complications.
AQUARIUS [January 20–February 18] The notorious Wicked Bible was published in 1631. That wasn't its original name. It was supposed to be as holy as every Bible. But it contained an error that slipped by the proofreaders' notice: In the book of Exodus, where the Ten Commandments were listed, the word "not" was excluded from one commandment. What remained, an insult to pious eyes, was "Thou shalt commit adultery." Most of these books were later burned, and the publisher was punished. Be on the lookout for a comparable flap, Aquarius: a small omission that could change the meaning of everything. Ideally, you'll spot the error and fix it before it spawns a brouhaha.
PISCES [February 19–March 20] The plant known as the squirting cucumber has an unusual talent: When the fruit is ripe, it opens up and spits out a rapid-fire stream of seeds that travels a great distance. In the coming weeks, Pisces, you'll have resemblances to this aggressive fructifier. It'll be prime time to be proactive about spreading your influence and offering your special gifts. The world is begging you to share your creative spirit, preferably with rapid-fire spurts that travel a great distance.
Homework: This week is my birthday. The best gift you could give me is to treat yourself to an experience you think I'd like. Tell me about it at Truthrooster@gmail.com.
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