All of which is preface for my excruciatingly pragmatic advice: This is an astrologically favorable time to boost your sales by any ethical means necessary.
Taurus (April 20-May 20): I am as certain as I can be that some part of you perished in April. Maybe you had to bury a sweet dream, or bid adieu to a resonant relationship, or brave the failure of a once-promising adventure. Perhaps you had to watch with bewilderment as a vivid passion went numb, or agonize as a dear old obsession lost half its meaning. I hope that whatever loss you suffered, you've grieved it with all your heart. As soon as you have, you'll be ready for the new gift that your old gift germinated with its passing. Now please meditate on these words from Michael Meade: "Real change only occurs when something dies."
Gemini (May 21-June 20): Many of you Geminis have a terminal case of Attention Deficit Disorder. You're hogs for variety. You love to dabble and sample but not to commit, and are as a result susceptible to being dilettantes. There's an attractive flip side to these flaws, though -- playful curiosity, dazzling flexibility, lovable innocence, passion for learning. And I'm always afraid you'll damage those winsome traits if you throw yourself too fiercely into building up your depth and responsibility. This is an especially pressing dilemma now, since certain fossils from your fusty musty past are overdue for disposal. I'm inclined to say that for the moment, just forget about cultivating more stick-to-it-iveness. You need to be able to express your bratty, sprightly, quick-change qualities without inhibition.
Cancer (June 21-July 22): If you were a relief pitcher for a baseball team, you'd be primed to save 50 games this year. If you were an administrator in charge of raising funds for abused women's shelters, you'd be in a position to double last year's totals. If you were the medicine woman of a tribe in Siberia, you'd be reaching new levels of intimacy in your communion with the nature spirits, ensuring record crops in the current growing season. What I'm trying to say, Cancerian, is that your ability to shine in service to a group goal is now at a peak.
Leo (July 23-Aug. 22): I swear your actual physical eyesight will improve this week. I could try to explain the reasons why, but you probably wouldn't believe most of them. The only theory you might swallow is that astrological forces are now awakening an extra-perceptive corner of your brain that's been dormant for longer than I care to say. This corner isn't afraid of seeing things exactly as they are. It passionately enjoys the sensation of glimpsing deeper, clearer, more expansive truths. Of course, the rest of you might be shocked when you start noticing a whole slew of details that would have been invisible to you before today. But you can handle it. I think.
Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): If you're interested in this sort of thing, it would be a good week to begin a quest to become an astronaut, mountain climber, or saintly hermit living in a treehouse. If you're not interested in that sort of thing, I suggest you find some other way to channel your current mandate to ascend. What height of achievement have you always felt was beyond your abilities? What soaring adventure have you forever denied yourself for no good reason? You have no idea how colossally lofty you can get right now.
Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): "God bless the wall that brings the two of you together." That's your first oracle. I acquired it from the scarecrow in my dream last night. It's mysterious, isn't it? Usually we think of walls as being responsible for keeping people apart, as in walls of silence or walls of defensiveness. But if I'm interpreting the oracle correctly, this week's wall will have the exact opposite effect for you.
Your second oracle I obtained from the quetzal bird sitting on the scarecrow's shoulder. This is how it goes: "The love you choose to withhold will be in direct proportion to the pain you'll have to carry." I guess that implies you shouldn't be stingy with your love -- unless of course you're a masochist.
Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): I happen to think this would be the perfect astrological moment for you to be of assistance to those who desperately need to be loosened up -- especially if, in loosening up, they'll spill the secrets you desperately need. After extensive consultation with my inner guides, I've determined that the best way to do this would be to fill your bathtub with 20 pounds of very ripe mangoes and induce the person in question to slosh around in there with you. If this is too expensive (mangoes ain't cheap), my guides have indicated it would be permissible to substitute Jell-O.
Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): Keep in mind, when you read my advice this week, that I am not some decadent nihilist who believes "no pain, no gain" is a sexy formula for raging success. Remember that I am a pragmatic optimist who studies the rhythms of life in order to bring out the best in you. With that as a disclaimer, I'm going to suggest that you spend the next 11 days -- no longer -- communing with the eerie and necessary power of decay. For every thing there is a season, the Bible says. And this is the season of rot. There are parts of your life that need to decompose, and it's your task to cooperate.
Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Your left brain and right brain are on closer speaking terms than maybe they've ever been. Your heart and your genitals are grooving on the same wavelength for a change. And get this: Your feet are no longer taking you places without your permission. To what do you owe the pleasure of this shocking state of integration? I like to think that you're finally receiving your compensation for the all the hard work you've done that's gone unnoticed and unrewarded.
Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): I'd advise you to call the experts at the International Itch Relief Center, but your particular itch would no doubt stump them. Yours, after all, is nothing so concrete as hives or prickly heat. It's an invisible, omnipresent, almost diabolical itch ... an off-the-scale, out-of-this-world, now-you-feel-it-now-you-don't itch. If you ask me, there's only one thing that can be done. Become as quiet and still and empty as you possibly can, and try to get God to scratch it for you.
Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20): You know that metaphorical message in a bottle you cast out into the sea more than two years ago? It has finally landed on a distant shore. You'll soon be contacted by the one who found it.
You know that cry in the wilderness you unleashed 16 months ago? That half plea, half demand you thought no one heard? Two people did hear it, and it's taken them all this time to figure out how to reply. When and if they reach out this week, don't blast them for being tardy.