ARIES (March 21-April 19)
You're often at your most attractive when you're expressing your warrior-like qualities. Unfortunately, you've still got a lot to learn about the art of selecting worthy opponents. So while you may be beautiful when you're mad, your fights don't always lead to the kind of intriguing success you can build on. Luckily, Aries, you're now at a point in your astrological cycle when you can make great headway toward becoming more discriminating. Please promise me that you'll wean yourself from wrestling matches with straw men, Cheshire cats, ghosts named Bozo, and their ilk. Choose only the most thought-provoking enemies.
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!"
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.
SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21)
Most of us have had curses cast on us. But unlike how they're portrayed in novels and films, the real thing is rarely an act of black magic conjured by a bad wizard. Rather, it's a negative declaration about our potential delivered by a person we love or trust. For instance, when I was 21 years old, my astrology teacher smacked me with this paralyzing prophecy: "You will never be known for who you really are." I've fought that whammy ever since. Your own curse may have been hurled by a parent who said you would never succeed, or an ex-lover who asserted that you'll never have a decent relationship. But whatever malediction you've had to bear all this time, Sagittarius, I want you to know that the cosmic forces are now aligned to help you banish it for good.
CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19)
My acquaintance Boyd specializes in "sacred sarcasm." It's a benevolent approach to shaking people up. "You sure impressed God during the month you spent courting that alcoholic womanizer," he once said to a female friend, hoping it would prod her to swear off such self-punishing behavior forever. "No doubt you earned a truckload of karmic credit for all the free work you gave away to that megalomaniac who ripped you off over and over," he told another pal, wishing that it might stimulate her to ask for more in return for her gifts. In the spirit of Boyd's sacred sarcasm, I offer this message for you, Capricorn: Surely your soul will be nourished and your ambitions buoyed by the pinched and stingy feelings you're now tempted to indulge.
AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18)
Did you used to share your blanket at nap time in kindergarten? If so, there's a good chance you have what it takes to capitalize on the half-disguised opportunities that'll soon arise. Spontaneous acts of generosity will have amazing clout, you see. They'll unleash events that'll precipitate liberating surprises. I should also note another benefit that's likely if you resurrect your old blanket-sharing tendencies: People who are worth knowing better will gravitate to you, eager to find out more about your approach to getting comfortable.
PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20)
Due to pollution, full-blown rainbows are becoming an endangered species. "Sun dogs," or tiny fragmented pieces of rainbows, are more and more commonplace. In sad protest, I am suspending my use of the rainbow metaphor until further notice. Happily, your current astrological needs do not require me to invoke this increasingly scarce natural wonder. The good fortune brewing in your vicinity will most likely occur in mysterious circumstances or under cover of darkness, and therefore have no resemblance to anything that occurs in broad daylight. The more apt symbol for your future, Pisces, is the moonbow: a bridge of colored light that forms over a waterfall from the blend of moon glow and water spray.
Homework: What experience have you been denying yourself even though it wouldn't hurt anyone else and would be good for you? Write a note giving yourself permission.
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