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Sent from: zenpride@well.com (Rob Brezsny)
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is Copyright 1996 Rob Brezsny
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REAL ASTROLOGY
Week of March 7
ARIES (MARCH 21-APRIL 19): It won't be such a good week to
act like a fire ant guarding your hill; or to wish you had a
magic wand that could turn people into jack-in-the-boxes; or
to listen too closely to ghosts and sycophants. It'll be an
excellent week, though, to cross star-crossed love affairs
off your list forever; and to stop pretending that what's
happening isn't happening; and to ask for divine intervention
in transforming the saddest fact of your life.
TAURUS (APRIL 20-MAY 20): You're in a position similar to
one I was in four years ago. My 1984 Chevy Malibu was
working fine except for one little problem with the
transmission: It could no longer go in reverse. I regarded it as
a metaphor for my life at that time, and now I'm taking it as
a metaphor for yours. There's no turning back, my friend. Full
speed ahead. Onward to the future. If you must park now and
then, make sure it's in spaces you don't have to back out of.
GEMINI (MAY 21-JUNE 20): One of my favorite quotes about
the nature of truth came from the physicist Neils Bohr. "The
opposite of a correct statement is a false statement," he
said. "But the opposite of a profound truth may well be
another profound truth." Recently I heard Native American
prophet Robert Morningsky put it another way. "The Truth is
like the Bear," he mused. "Is it a gentle beast of nature, a
model for the stuffed animal children love most? Or is it a
vicious carnivore that'll rip you to shreds if you turn your
back on it? The answer, of course, is that it's both." Nothing
could be more important for you to keep in mind during this
week's tests. Can you build a bridge and burn it at the same
time?
CANCER (JUNE 21-JULY 22): As I muse on your role in this
week's melodramas, my daydreams turn to that poignant
moment in 1969 when Grace Slick got within an eyelash of
dosing the drinks with LSD at a White House lawn party. I'm
not recommending that you do anything quite so extreme,
mind you. I'm just foreseeing that you'll have a load of cosmic
help whenever you inject some mischievous, catalytic energy
into stuffy situations where the people are way too
impressed with themselves. (P.S. The planetary gods will also
look favorably on you if you launch that same uproarious
spirit towards your own most dogmatic opinions and fixed
ideas.)
LEO (JULY 23-AUG. 22): The next seven fable-packed days will
be off-the-record, over-the-top, under-the-table, and out-
of-the-blue. They'll be internecine, prolix, sedulous,
incandescent, and vicissitudinous. It'll be the kind of week
when you better hope you don't spill your dinner on yourself
as you're wolfing it down in your car on your way to your date
with blind destiny. Under the highly unpredictable
circumstances, it's sort of stupid for me to give advice, but
in the spirit of doing things that don't make any sense just
because they *feel* right, I'll offer you advice anyway: Do
NOT keep it simple, stupid.
VIRGO (AUG. 23-SEPT. 22): I'll tell you how feminist a man I
am. Not only do I always put the toilet seat down after using
it, I also buy all the toilet paper for our household--a task
which sociologists say almost universally falls to women in
our culture. In honor of International Women's Day--and to
celebrate the *quickening* of your own inner feminine--I
exhort all you Virgo men to follow my lead, only in a more
majestic way. Maybe you could perform a ritual of praise for
the women in your life, or give them a solid hour when you
listen to their stories with rapt intelligence. Virgo women:
Do the same. Pull off a sublime feat that is the reverse of one
of your highly conditioned roles.
LIBRA (SEPT. 23-OCT. 22): I must have been dazed on flu
medication when I channeled last week's horoscope. I mean it
was astrologically correct and everything. But I could have
said it in a kinder, gentler way. Of course, if I had been
sweeter, you probably wouldn't have gotten the shock you
needed to bust out of your rut. So maybe it was all for the
best--just as the following advice will be: You'll have to
work twice as hard as you did last week to fix what's not
officially broke--but which unofficially is very broke.
SCORPIO (OCT. 23-NOV. 21): Twenty-six years ago, a swampy
region of Malaysia called Sungei Siput hosted one of history's
fiercest orgies. Over 10,000 frogs showed up, as if on cue, to
copulate nonstop for a week. Their ecstatic croaks could be
heard at a distance of 25 miles. Now it so happens that the
planetary configurations at that time had a certain similarity
to those in the week ahead, and it further so happens that
this new wave of cosmic eros will be bearing down most
intensely on you Scorpios. My advice? Enjoy the hell out of
yourself, but don't emulate the frogs, whose mating territory
looked like a war zone when they were done.
SAGITTARIUS (NOV. 22-DEC. 21): Videotape this week for
posterity. Take lots of notes and mental snapshots. Save
souvenirs, keep records of all the sweet synchronicities, and
move as if in luxurious slow motion.
What's the occasion? Your lost love has returned. And
who's your lost love? You! You're your own lost love! After all
these centuries, a missing part of you has finally wandered
back. Don't just stand there. Give yourself a big kiss and a
new engagement ring and a torrent of hot promises about how
you'll never be parted again.
CAPRICORN (DEC. 22-JAN. 19): If a horoscope columnist you
respected told you that the decision you faced in the week
ahead would be like having to choose between listening to
Imelda Marcos singing "Feelings" and Willam Shatner crooning
"Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," how would you respond?
Would you: (a) assume the horoscope columnist was drunk,
and dismiss his advice out-of-hand; (b) slavishly take every
word of the columnist to be gospel truth, and start preparing
for a bland torture; or (c) say to yourself, "Just in case he's
right, I'm going to turn around and head in a direction
opposite to the fork in the road that leads to Marcos and
Shatner."
AQUARIUS (JAN. 20-FEB. 18): History shows that Aquarians
have devised a disproportionate number of useful inventions.
The record also suggests, however, that a curiously small
percentage of Aquarians own the *patents* on useful
inventions. What does this tell us? That your tribe tends to
be better at hatching the brilliant innovations than
capitalizing on them; that the oddball visions which make you
such a catalyst are all too often undermined by fuzzy
organizational skills. I'm dumping this on you not to make you
feel bad, but to motivate you to rise up against me. Make me a
liar, you rebel genius. Don't just be a revolutionary. Be a
revolutionary who's not afraid of paperwork.
PISCES (FEB. 19-MARCH 20): As a fun-loving toy-collector
who's always been addicted to childhood, I'm probably not the
best person to talk to you about this subject, but it looks like
you have no one else in your life to do the job. The fact is,
Pisces, that cranky old task-master Saturn has, for more
than two years, been forcing you to submit to heavy-handed
lessons in growing up. You now have just four weeks left to
finish your studies and take your final exam. I'm almost
positive this means you'll have to divest yourself--at least a
little--of your Peter Pan syndrome.