ARIES (March 21-April 19):
From an astrological point of view, it’s not a good time to inject Cheez Whiz into Hostess SnoBalls and serve them as hors d’oeuvres. Nor is it a favorable moment to recite dirty limericks to pillars of the community or to launch a vision quest in the weedy, broken-glass-littered field behind a shopping mall. While I do recommend that you explore your odder fantasies, Aries, don’t get that odd. How about inducing a lucid dream in which gorgeous angels give you orgasms as you fly over the Grand Canyon? How about playing affectionate pranks on everyone you love, especially yourself? What if you loosen up your tightest inhibitions and try the most uplifting adventure you’re afraid of?
TAURUS (April 20-May 20):
To attune yourself best to cosmic trends, party every day this week. If you can’t find a bash, throw your own. If no one you know is in the mood to get rowdy, find new friends who are. I trust you don’t need any excuses to revel, but here are some, just in case. March 1: The energizing planet Mars enters Taurus, and expansive Jupiter straightens up and flies right in your astrological House of Krazy Glue. March 2: It’s the feast day of Hypatia of Alexandria (A.D. 370-415), the first great woman mathematician. March 3: What If Cats and Dogs Had Opposable Thumbs Day. March 4: Give Everyone a Gift for No Reason Day. March 5: Sing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” After Inhaling Helium Day.
GEMINI (May 21-June 20):
“Dear Dr. Brezsny: Being a Gemini, I am of course always torn. But these days the usual rip in the fabric of my soul has become a gaping abyss. Can you sew me up? I’d be ever so grateful if you’d provide a solution to my dilemma: Should I go to the London Film School and learn how to make movies of my shamanic visions, or should I open an offshore gambling casino in Belize? —Tortured Twin.”
Dear Tortured: Have you considered the possibility of having your cake and eating it, too? As in both attending film school and opening the gambling casino? The stars say it’s a favorable time for Geminis to get away with the most unlikely unifications.
CANCER (June 21-July 22):
In the 1970s, performance art came into its own as a protest against the conventions of the art world. For raw material, artists used their bodies rather than canvas and paints or clay. Their work was not meant to be viewed at leisure in a gallery after it was finished, but rather seen by a live audience as it was created. It was fresh, provocative, and unpredictable. But 30 years later, performance art is “mired in cliché,” writes Libby Brooks in The Guardian. This is how she sums up London’s “Span2,” a month-long international festival: It’s “all wanton flesh and bloodletting and orifices.” Let the decline of this once vital uprising serve as a cautionary tale, Cancerian. Keep reinventing your creative rebellion against ugliness and deceit and cruelty.
LEO (July 23-Aug. 22):
Chances are you’re not a mystic. Perhaps you don’t even believe in invisible phenomena like telepathy, auras, angels, X rays, and radio waves. Nevertheless, you’re now in the midst of a delicate spiritual mission involving factors that are imperceptible to the naked eye. You may have felt no more than odd tugs so far, but luckily I’m here to tell you about the secret that’s behind them. At the moment of your conception, you see, a genetic potential was programmed to switch itself on in February and March of 2002. Ready or not, Leo, you’re about to come into possession of a previously missing key to your destiny.
VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22):
I’m pleased to inform you that the Ice Age is officially over. Frozen assets, both of the financial and emotional kind, are thawing. The hearts of Icicle Queens and Glacier Kings are melting. Cold shoulders are beginning to emanate body heat, and frigid stares are giving way to molten come-hither looks. It seems that even chilly wisdom from remote mountaintops is becoming a useful fuel. Use it to stoke the fire in your soft underbelly, Virgo. Burn, baby, burn!
LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22):
They can tie one hand behind your back, Libra, but they can’t keep you from working the other hand twice as hard. Why am I so sure? Because, according to a survey of 93 spirit guides and guardian angels, as well as three of my astrological colleagues, it is hardship-as-blessing time. You’re unstoppable, you’re crafty, you’re bound for weird glory—all because some renegade god is trying to frustrate you. Rarely have you been in a better position to prove this fundamental law of the universe: PROBLEM equals OPPORTUNITY.
SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21):
I’m always delighted, Scorpio, when you “let your love be like misty rain, coming softly but flooding the river,” as the Madagascan proverb says. Of course, I’m also enchanted when you invoke the harder-edged romantic ethic summed up by outlaw writer William S. Burroughs: “If I had my way we’d sleep every night all wrapped around each other like rattlesnakes.” According to my reading of the astrological omens, both these approaches to amour will be in full bloom during the coming weeks, as well as others you’re not so familiar with. May you mix and match them with the skill of a master alchemist.
SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21):
Even more than usual, you’ll benefit from communing with great works of art, music, and literature from the past. While there are a few modern masterpieces, the majority of the cultural artifacts you’re surrounded by are mediocre divertissements, designed to make a buck or feed an ego by appealing to the lowest common denominator. The toll this takes on your soul is incalculable. In case you need a jump start, here are a few of my favorite famous old maestros: Heraclitus, Goethe, Keats, van Gogh, Walt Whitman, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Stravinsky. Please also consider the masterpieces of these lesser-known female geniuses: painter Artemisia Gentileschi, poet H.D., composer Hildegard of Bingen, and novelist Murasaki Shikibu.
CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19):
It’ll be a great week to try at least five positions from the Kama Sutra, taste 12 flavors of ice cream, visit three new places, come up with four fresh questions concerning your destiny, and reveal 13 different facets of your personality. The astrological omens are telling me that you will be rewarded for being miscellaneous, versatile, and diverse. For best results, Capricorn, also practice the art of non-attachment: Give yourself enthusiastically to each new possibility without immediately claiming it as a permanent part of your identity.
AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18):
A friend of mine, Allen, was evaluating the spiritual progress of a mutual acquaintance, John. “Twenty years of Buddhist meditation and he’s still an insensitive jerk,” Allen concluded with a flourish. I didn’t respond, except to say, “Hmmm.” It’s my policy to refrain from participating in the popular sport of bad-mouthing. But I agreed with Allen’s assessment. Like many seekers I’ve known, John hasn’t translated his high-minded religious principles and rigorous devotional practices into the way he treats people in his daily life. Lest I sound self-righteous, I acknowledge that I myself am not always a perfect reflection of my ideals. And every one of us falls at least a little short of his or her best self. That’s the bad news, Aquarius. The good news is that it’s now prime time for you to close the gap.
PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20):
“One can make the case,” says iconoclastic physicist Jack Sarfatti, “that all creative thought by artists, craftsmen, and scientists involves the subconscious reception of ideas from the future which literally create themselves.” My friend Vimala, a self-described “hedonistic midwife” who claims she was born in 1901, puts a slightly different spin on it. “Our future selves are constantly transmitting great ideas to us back through time,” she says, “but most of us don’t believe that’s possible and consequently are not alert for it.” I don’t claim to know whether Sarfatti or Vimala offers the more accurate explanation for what you’ll experience this week, Pisces. All I know is that you’ll be attuned to the world to come.
Homework: Unleash an outrageous boast about how you’re going to pull off a certain feat that you’ve previously lacked the chutzpah to attempt. Write: firstname.lastname@example.org.