ARIES [March 21–April 19] When Carolee Schneemann was a kid, her adoration of nature earned her the nickname “mad pantheist.” Later, she described her relationship with the world: “I assume the senses crave sources of information, that the eye benefits by exercise, stretch, and expansion towards materials of complexity and substance.” I hope that you’re attracted to that perspective right now. To be in productive alignment with the cosmic rhythms, you should be in a state of ecstatic openness, hungry to be stretched—like a mad pantheist.
TAURUS [April 20–May 20] “Dear Rob: Last night, my son and I were stargazing. When we focused on the constellation Cassiopeia, an owl started hooting. Then a brilliant shooting star zipped by as a huge bat flew right over our heads. Was this a bad omen? Bats are creepy—associated with vampires. And Cassiopeia got divine punishment because she bragged that she and her daughter were more beautiful than the sea god’s daughters. But I don’t know, maybe this blast of odd events was a good omen. Owls are symbols of wisdom, and shooting stars are lucky, right? What do you think? —Spooked Taurus.” Dear Spooked: The question of whether it’s good or bad luck is irrelevant. Here’s what’s important: You Tauruses are in a phase when the hidden workings of things will be shown to you—the mysterious magic that’s always bubbling below the surface but that is usually not visible.
GEMINI [May 21–June 20] The week ahead will be a ripe time to pull off magic reversals. May I suggest that you try to transform dishwater grays into sparkling golds? Or how about recycling the dead energy of a lost cause in such a way as to generate raw fuel for a fresh start? I’m confident, Gemini, that you’ll be able to discover treasure hidden in the trash. Now ponder this riddle, please: Do you think there’s any mystical significance in the fact that the word “stressed” is “desserts” spelled backwards?
CANCER [June 21–July 22] Lately, you remind me of the person Robert Hass describes in his poem “Time and Materials”: “someone falling down and getting up and running and falling and getting up.” I’m sending you my compassion for the times you fall down, and my admiration for the times you get up, and my excitement for the times you run. It has probably become clear to you by now that the falling down isn’t a shameful thing to be cursed, but instead is an instrumental part of the learning process that is teaching you marvelous secrets about getting back up and running.
LEO [July 23–August 22] “I burn for no reason, like a lantern in daylight,” writes Joseph Lease. I think that’s a succinct formulation of one of your issues. Burning for no reason, like a lantern in the daylight, can be the cause of either failure or success. This is how it can be failure: When you’re wastefully burning through your reserves of fuel without any concern for the benefits it may provide you and others. This is how it can be success: When you are exuberant in shining your light and just because it feels so good and so right and so healthy, and without any thought about whether it’s “useful” to anyone.
VIRGO [August 23–September 22] In one of his short poems, John Averill describes a scene that captures the essence of your current astrological omens: “Today is the day of the photo of moonrise over Havana in a book on a shelf in the snowbound cabin.” Here’s a clue about what it means: The snowbound cabin is where you are right now in your life. The moonrise over Havana is where you could be early in 2010. How do you get there from here?
LIBRA [September 23–October 22] An estuary is a bay where the saltwater of a sea mixes with the freshwater of rivers. These days, you remind me of such a place. You are two-toned, Libra. You’re a hybrid blend of the yes and the no, the give and the take, the extravagant and the traditional. And somehow, this has been working out pretty well for you. You’re not so much a contradiction as an interesting juxtaposition. You’re not being crushed by a squeeze of opposites so much as you’re getting massaged by the oscillating throbs of complementary influences. Keep doing what you’ve been doing, only more so.
SCORPIO [October 23–November 21] Big shiny egos with flashy tricks may be mucking around in everyone’s business, calling narcissistic attention to themselves as they pretend to do noble deeds. Meanwhile, I hope you’ll be doing the hard, detailed work that must be done to serve the greater good—quietly and unpretentiously improving people’s lives without demanding major tribute. That approach will stir up some sleek, silky karma that will come in handy when you undertake the building of your masterpiece in 2010.
SAGITTARIUS [November 22–December 21] “Dear Rob: I love to be proven wrong. That’s not an ironic statement. I actually get excited and feel creative when I acquire new information that shows me I’ve been operating under a misunderstanding. One of my very favorite life moments occurs when I am convincingly liberated from a negative opinion I’ve been harboring about someone. The way I see it, emotional wealth and health involve having so much self-respect that I don’t need to be right all the time. —Sagittarian Freedom Fighter.” Dear Freedom Fighter: Thanks for your testimony. The capacity you described is one that many Sagittarians will be poised to expand in 2010. And this is an excellent week for them to start getting the hang of it.
CAPRICORN [December 22–January 19] In a version of the tale of Pinocchio, friendly woodpeckers chiseled his nose to its original size after it had grown enormous from his lying. From a metaphorical perspective, a comparable development may soon occur in your own life. A benevolent (if somewhat rough) intervention akin to the woodpeckers’ assistance will shrink an overgrown, top-heavy part of your attitude, allowing you to proceed to the next chapter of your story with streamlined grace.
AQUARIUS [January 20–February 18] “There is light enough for those who wish to see,” wrote French philosopher Blaise Pascal, “and darkness enough for those of the opposite disposition.” I’m hoping you will align yourself with the first group in the coming week, Aquarius. More than ever before, what you choose to focus on will come rushing in to meet you, touch you, teach you, and prompt you to respond. Even if all the smart people you know seem to be drunk on the darkness, I encourage you to be a brave rebel who insists on equal time for the light.
PISCES [February 19–March 20] White dwarfs are small and dense stars. They’re typically no bigger than the Earth, but as heavy as the sun. You currently have a resemblance to one of those concentrated balls of pure intensity. I have rarely seen you offering so much bang for the buck. You are as flavorful as chocolate mousse, as piercing as the scent of eucalyptus, as lustrous as a fireworks display on a moonless night. Personally, I’m quite attracted to your saucy and zesty emanations, and I think most people with strong egos will be. But some underachievers with lower self-esteem may regard you as being more like astringent medicine. My advice: Gravitate toward those who like you to be powerful.
Homework: Meditate on the difference between your fearful fantasies and your intuitions. For inspiration, listen to my free podcast at http://bit.ly/unqAj.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on December 1, 2009