Taurus (April 20-May 20): You'd be crazy to ignore the nagging question that's making your brain itch so bad. Fact is, you can't graduate to the next chapter of your life story until you get better answers to that question. So take time out now to formulate exactly what you want to ask the oracle. Write it on a piece of paper and tape it to the wall behind your pillow. Sleep on it for two nights. Dream on it. Then follow these instructions: Go to a library or bookstore. Wander up and down the aisles. When the itch in your brain acts up, stop and grab the first book you see that's on the shelf second from the bottom. Open the book two-thirds of the way through. Find a sentence three-fourths of the way down the right-hand page. It will be a crucial clue to your inquiry.
Gemini (May 21-June 20): How we gonna get you to listen full time to your heart? It has so much to tell you about amour, and you seem to be only half tuned-in. I desperately want you to get all, not just some, of the benefits of this astrologically favorable time for romance.
Here's one idea. Shut down the noise of the world outside by stuffing earplugs in your ears. Then start grooving on the sounds of your big love muscle. Try to detect a message or a mantra emerging from the swirling, swishing throb. And don't be surprised if it's something like "Love what you cannot control."
Cancer (June 21-July 22): Don't spoil your appetite, honey. You know what they say about between-meal snacks. A delicious feast will be ready in a little while, and it would be a damn shame to prematurely satisfy your hunger with junk food. In fact, I'll go so far as to say that it's never been more important for you to postpone your gratification till later. Stay cool, calm, and collected for now and you'll get to be hot, lathered, and insouciant later.
Leo (July 23-Aug. 22): I'm not going to work tomorrow. I've decided to wake up late, eat a leisurely breakfast, and take a long walk in the autumn woods. When I find a spot that fills me with a wild sense of peace, I'll proceed to contemplate your navel. (I've already contemplated the hell out of my own navel.)
I can already sense what secrets your navel will divulge. I bet it'll say you should call in sick tomorrow, wake up late, eat a leisurely breakfast, and take a long walk by your favorite body of water.
Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): Here's the dramatic announcement you've all been waiting for: You're almost home. You've been inching closer and closer all year long, and now you're nearly there. I don't know exactly what the details are. Maybe it means you're about to arrive at the place on Earth where your dormant potentials will detonate. Or maybe it means you're finally making peace with your family of birth, or have located your tribe, or have tuned in to your spiritual calling. Whatever it is, the next few weeks are the climax. Begin your big push now.
Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): "Dear Doctor Brez$ny: A year ago I wa$ broke and mi$erable. My unemployment check$ had run out and my car had been repo$$e$$ed. My only e$cape wa$ daytime talk $how$ -- until my TV broke and I didn't have the buck$ to fix it. Then one day in a cafeteria where I'd gone to $cam left-behind food, I found Real A$trology in a new$paper. A month later I bought a new Lexu$ and took a Caribbean crui$e. Now I am building a home on Puget $ound with a private pool and gorgeou$ view of the water. How can I ever repay you? -- $taggeringly Grateful"
Dear $taggeringly: Your te$timonial i$ ample thank$. Maybe it'll convince my Libra reader$ to heed my subliminal financial clue$ in the coming week$$$$.
Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): Can you recall how you felt when something you'd been angry about for a long time finally lost its hold on you? Have you ever dreamed of plunging off a cliff and falling forever only to land as softly as a feather near a waterfall that seemed to be singing your name? Did you ever glide through crowded streets after an earthquake and sense the heightened awareness exuding from people overwhelmed with how much they love being alive? Those are some of the experiences with which I can compare the week ahead of you.
Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): This is not a red alert situation, but it may be a pink alert. I'm not saying there's physical danger; I'm saying it's likely that unforeshadowed plot twists will require you to deliver lines and take actions you've never rehearsed. So peer out of the corners of your eyes twice as hard as usual. Know where the exits are. Have a Swiss army knife -- or its psychic equivalent -- with you at all times. And never underestimate the power of humor to jimmy you out of a jam.
Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Change your password. Pick a different lucky number. Give yourself a new nickname. Tinker with your story about how you got to where you are now. Make it a bit harder for everyone to have you pegged. Admit that one of your opinions is wrong, and dump it. Scrupulously avoid the stock answer you give when asked, "How ya doin'?" Do one of your grooming rituals backward; for instance, begin your shower by soaping up the part of your body you usually do last. Start practicing for Halloween by performing all your household chores and erotic adventures in your costume.
Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): Survey any of those Worst Dressed lists, and you're likely to see three or four Aquarians among the top 10. It's not so much that you folks like ugly clothes as much as that your concept of beauty is -- how shall I describe it? -- all over the map. Being an honorary Aquarius myself, I'm not about to advise you to abandon your experimental ways. It's just that in the next six weeks, you'll be making tons of first impressions and meeting scads of new people. You wouldn't want to scare off future allies simply because you couldn't resist an urge to wear your cowboy vest, Gypsy shirt, and Martian pants, right? I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but hunt down some fashion tips, please.
Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20): Here's your thought for the week, the year, and the century, courtesy of Carl Jung: "Whatever is rejected from the self appears in the world as an event." In other words, if you disown a part of your personality, it'll mysteriously materialize as an unexpected adventure. Say, for instance, that you ruthlessly repress the part of you that would love to attach a sail to a skateboard and go winging downtown dressed in full medieval garb. The likelihood is that you will, sooner than you think, run into a blast from the past that extends a seductive invitation to try out a new mode of travel.