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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 21
ARIES (MARCH 21-APRIL 19): Try to wrap your imagination
around the concept of a *tropical glacier*. There is such a
thing. It's in the highlands of Indonesia's Irian Jaya, which is a
mere three hundred miles from the equator. There's also
something resembling a tropical glacier in your aura right
now: a very icy spot right in the middle of your torrid zone.
While it certainly is interesting to gaze upon for a tourist
like me, I don't imagine it's too comfortable for you to live
with. And besides, it takes a whole hell of a lot of energy to
keep it refrigerated. I say melt it as soon as possible.
TAURUS (APRIL 20-MAY 20): Get thee to a nunnery, Taurus, or
to a sanctuary, or to a quiet corner of the world where no one
can bug you for a while. You've mastered a dizzyingly steep
learning curve. You've absorbed as much change as you can. But
now you deserve and need and must have a respite. You deserve
and need and must find a refuge where superheated ambition
is a million light years away and the maniacal engines of
desire are shut down for maintenance checks.
GEMINI (MAY 21-JUNE 20): Here's a fun project. First thing you
do is define exactly what success means to you. Write out a
succinct statement, including as much precise imagery as
possible. ("Success means having a lime green BMW with a
built-in espresso maker," etc.). The second part of the task is
to name the people you desperately want to recognize your
success. ("My ex-lover who said I was too scattered to ever
amount to anything," etc.). The third step is to burn what
you've written, announcing to the universe that you're ready to
receive hundreds of new clues about how and why to change
your definition of success.
CANCER (JUNE 21-JULY 22): This week's assignment is to
write a fairy tale that allegorizes the life you'd like to lead in
the next six weeks. Here are some of the characters I
recommend you include: (1) a swashbuckling hermit crab who
fights for truth, justice, and bigger bucks; (2) a magic turtle
who rules a vast kingdom with wisdom and adaptability,
despite the fact that she seems slow and dorky when you first
meet her; (3) a male seahorse who stays home and takes care
of the babies; (4) a female seahorse who's plotting a
revolution that'll mutate the way an age-old network works.
LEO (JULY 23-AUG. 22): There is an old saying that when the
student is ready the teacher will appear. It has a romantic
ring to it, and I've found it to be true on two occasions in my
personal life. But as much as I would love to invoke it right
now, my astrological research won't let me. You see, Leo, you
are simply *not* ready for the teacher. On the other hand, the
teacher is going to show up anyway. This could be good; it
could be bad. It all depends on whether you recognize the
teacher, and if you do, whether the teacher has the wizardry
it'll take to jolt you into an instantaneous state of readiness.
VIRGO (AUG. 23-SEPT. 22): Many of you Virgos suffer from the
nagging feeling that you should be further along your path than
you actually are. Sometimes I fear that you'll never be free of
this gnawing fantasy, that you'll continue to nurture it
forever and ever, as if it were an interesting and helpful
companion. But here's the news, sweetheart: IT'S NOT AN
INTERESTING AND HELPFUL COMPANION. It's a completely
useless parasite. Banish it. Extinguish it. Or better yet, just
replace it with this superior fantasy: *You are exactly where
you need to be--forever and ever, amen.* Now relax and enjoy
the unfolding of your perfect fate.
LIBRA (SEPT. 23-OCT. 22): I see it so often that I've come to
believe it's the rule rather than the exception: people who are
smart and together about every facet of their lives except for
their intimate relationships. It's almost as if we all save the
most undeveloped aspects of our personalities for those
special moments when we're trying to create the thing that's
most important to us. But I say unto you, Libra, that it doesn't
have to be that way for you. The next eight weeks will be
prime time to become as savvy about love as you are about
everything else.
SCORPIO (OCT. 23-NOV. 21): "Dear Dream Doctor: There's no
way to put this delicately, so I won't even try. For three
nights in a row I had the same nightmare. I dreamed my toilet
was overflowing with you-know-what. Last night the
nightmare started out the same but took a drastic turn for the
worse. The wall to my bathroom crumbled, exposing my
predicament to hundreds of passers-by outside. Tell me
Doctor, what did I do to deserve this kind of dream abuse? -
Scatologically-Challenged Scorpio."
Dear Scatologically-Challenged: Thank your dreams. They're
advising you to streamline the mechanisms by which you flush
away the ideas and feelings and things you no longer need.
SAGITTARIUS (NOV. 22-DEC. 21): No one loves getting presents
more than you Sagittarians. In fact, if you don't receive gifts
regularly you become susceptible to sickness, insanity, and
stupid love affairs. Which brings me to my point: Lately there
haven't been nearly enough goodies flowing your way. And now
you're entering an astrological phase when all your normal
hankerings will need twice as much satisfaction as usual.
Therefore, I beg you to: (1) coax, manipulate, and trick
everyone into showering you with boons, bounties, and
bonuses; 2) shower* yourself* with boons, bounties, and
bonuses.
CAPRICORN (DEC. 22-JAN. 19): It'll be a good week to hold
peace talks with your roommates, stage an all-out assault
against household mold, and tape little prayers and
affirmations on the mirror and closet door. It won't be such a
great week, though, to launch a career as a South Seas beach
bum, to try your hand at nude karaoke, or to take your first
skydiving lesson. In other words, explore the sweet and tender
mysteries that are closest to home. Your word of power is
*cocoon*.
AQUARIUS (JAN. 20-FEB. 18): This would be prime time to get
one of those new VCRs that fast forwards though the
commercials when you play back a recorded show. I only wish
you could also procure some analogous magical device that
would let you zip past all the small talk, aimless gossip,
bureaucratic nonsense, and hype that will inundate you in the
days ahead. In lieu of it, I suggest you develop a habit of
interrupting everyone's windy filibusters and evasive
propaganda with a curt, "Just cut the crap and tell me what's
*really* going on."
PISCES (FEB. 19-MARCH 20): Tibetan Buddhists believe you can
cancel your karma if you circumambulate Tibet's Mt. Kailas
three times. The Christian church offers forgiveness of sins
through the ritual of baptism. If you happen to find meaning in
the atonement traditions of these or any other religious
institution, I advise you to seek them out in the next two
weeks. Otherwise, just do it yourself. Dunk yourself in a river
while blubbering, "I'm sorry! I'll never do it again!" Write
letters to everyone you've offended and ask to be absolved. Go
work in a homeless kitchen or donate ten percent of your
income to Amnesty International or whip yourself with your
daddy's old belt. Just make damn sure you wash away all this
past winter's sins and give yourself blank-check permission
to be fresh and innocent again.