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Free Will Astrology

ARIES (March 21-April 19): Plato believed that besides eating, sleeping, breathing and mating, every creature has an instinctual need to periodically leap up into the air for no other reason than because it feels so good. Please indulge frequently in this pleasure in the coming days, Aries. If I had my way, you wouldn't stop there. You'd also give yourself generously to the joys of hopping, skipping, playing tag, staging three-legged races, mixing soup and Pepsi and beer and milk in a blender and daring each other to drink it and making love with such rowdy fun that you laugh until you cry. "Many adults have to relearn how to be playful," says Suzy May, a fitness instructor who helps teach a class called "Recess" at a health resort in the Berkshires. It's high time for you to take a crash course.

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): By my astrological calculation, there are at least 3,550 different solutions to the dilemma which your higher mind is currently obsessed with. Do you realize what this means, Taurus? You must not get caught up in the fantasy that there is only one correct answer. By understanding and accepting the profusion of truths, you will be able to access that state of mind known as fuzzy genius – and will already be halfway towards clarifying what's out of focus.

GEMINI (May 21-June 20): Have you been made to feel guilty for your love of channel-surfing? Are you tired of slowpokes asking you not to talk, move and mutate so fast? Do you wish people were more willing to accompany you on your sudden, darting leaps of logic? If so, Gemini, this could be a triumphant week. The quick-change approach to life will be rewarded as never before. You will reap surprising help whenever you reveal the spiritual power of acting unpredictably. Minor miracles will unfold as you demonstrate the art of the five-minute epic conversation. You cannot possibly plumb the inexhaustibly rich depths of casual, frivolous, lightweight diversions this week, but try anyway.

CANCER (June 21-July 22): This would be a perfect astrological moment for you to create a two-hour home video of yourself being chased by a giant, fire-breathing sock puppet. Perhaps you could achieve the same effect by using a felt-tip marker to draw symbolic pictures on your belly of nuclear war breaking out or an asteroid striking the Earth or a loved one misunderstanding you. The point, my dear Cancerian, is to make fun of your fears with such relentlessly self-mocking humor that you scare them completely out of your system.

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): I believe the history books of the future will give contradictory accounts of your recent exploits. Some will maintain that you were in exile in hell. Others will say you were on a heavenly vacation. My own personal view is that you managed to visit heaven and hell simultaneously. All the grief and joy were crushed together; all the splendor and rot. In fact, because of your wonderful ordeal, I now believe more than ever that heaven and hell are actually located in the same place, or at least that there's a huge zone where they overlap. Given how strong this experience has made you, it shouldn't take you more than a few days to recuperate. Then it'll be time to take inventory of how completely you've changed.

VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): "Virgo rules the intestines, where digestion is completed, and where the final selection is made between assimilable material and what is rejected as waste." So said my best teacher, Paul Foster Case, in his book The Tarot. I could write reams on this subject, but here's a start: Digestion is a central metaphor in every Virgo's life. How can you thoroughly extract what's truly useful from every experience you take in? Do you have a passion for understanding the difference between what will nourish you and what should be flushed away? Are you committed to the work of keeping your intestines healthy, knowing this is crucial to maintaining your mental hygiene? During the next few weeks, these questions will lead you to sparkling meditations.

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): For some people, luxury may indeed consist, as Jack Smith suggests in the June 2000 Robb Report, of wearing a custom-made silk and cashmere shirt while sipping a bottle of Chateau Petrus Pomerol and lounging in teak garden furniture on a hand-knotted Doris Leslie Blau rug aboard a 145-foot Christensen yacht. For you, though, Libra, I would guess that the deluxe splendor you harvest this week will involve subtler, less garish glories – like, for instance, receiving a gush of appreciation for your long, hard work. Or winning friends and influencing people you've been courting for many moons.

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): If you've ever watched "The Simpsons" TV show, you've probably heard Homer Simpson's favorite toast. "To alcohol," he proclaims. "The cause of and solution to all of life's problems." My own ultimate salute is a little different. "To the Divine Trickster," I cry, "also known as God: the cause of and solution to all of life's problems." What about you, Scorpio? What confounding beauty are you ready to celebrate? This is a perfect moment to hone in on it, seeing as how the source of your tribulations is now ready to provide you with the cure for its maddening dilemmas.

SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): I have no objection to you pushing to become biggerbraverfaster, Sagittarius. It makes perfect sense, given the fiercely expansive astrological mood you're now enjoying. Nor do I see anything inherently insane about seeking adventures that will push you fartherstrongerwilder or higherdeeperlonger. All I ask is that you tone and balance your brash extremism with the quest for wiserquietermoister insights. OK? Be lyrically outrageous.

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Once a year, Vancouver, B.C. hosts the International Three-Day Novel-Writing Contest. Participants are allowed to have a rough outline for their book, but may not begin composing it until the bell rings. For the next 72 hours anything goes – coffee megadoses, crying jags unleashed by quarrying painful memories, hallucinatory creativity fueled by sleeplessness – as the crazed writers churn out finished works of long fiction. Sometime this week, Capricorn, I suggest you apply this droolingly kamikaze approach to a worthy project of your own choice.

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): In my lucid dream last night, I consulted the eight-armed, purple-maned goddess as she hovered astride the flying lion over a swimming pool filled with green Jell-o. "Please give me an oracle for my Aquarian readers," I called up to her in a reverent shout. "Have you been a good boy?" she singsonged brightly in a voice that resembled k.d. lang's. "Oh yes," I replied. "I've been teaching the doctrine of lustful compassion everywhere I go." Just then I noticed that another prodigy had materialized in the pool. An eight-armed god with a huge orange afro was floating in the Jell-o on the back of another lion. "Tell Aquarians to be like me," the goddess squealed ecstatically, whereupon she dived into the pool and embraced the god. "Watch closely," she purred. By the time I awoke, the two deities had re-enacted the whole of the Kama Sutra.

PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): A Florida man, Peter Cordani, believes he can defuse hurricanes using a simple gardener's product called Soil Moist. Drop tons of the stuff from airplanes into a hurricane's eye, he says, and it'll absorb 250 times its weight, changing the storm's moisture into a gel that falls harmlessly into the sea. A prominent meteorologist thinks the plan has merit. In a related story, engineers frustrated in their attempts to clean up a nuclear waste site in New York have decided to try zeolite, a substance that soaks up odors and wetness – and that happens to be the main ingredient in kitty litter. What does this have to do with you? I believe you have access to a metaphorical equivalent of Soil Moist and zeolite. Use it to shrink and neutralize the toxic blizzard that threatens you. Tell how you've refused to be tamed. Deliver your testimony by coming to www.freewillastrology.com and clicking on "Contact

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