TAURUS (April 20-May 20): Of all the signs in the zodiac, you're most likely to fight fairly, Taurus. Sneak attacks are rarely a part of your strategy. You're not prone to using spies, spewing deceptive propaganda or manipulating innocent bystanders into serving hidden agendas. I love all this about you. And yet to be true to the astrological omens, I must make the following suggestion: In the coming weeks, use more guile than usual. Figure out how you can employ guerrilla tactics and the element of surprise without diluting your integrity.
GEMINI (May 21-June 20): Your first rule this week is to push with all your might to ensure the arrival of ease and grace. Your second rule is to act as if the only way you can possibly get what you want is to pretend you don't want it. Third, be aggressively sensitive and ferociously receptive. Fourth, carry out the most macho form of surrender you can imagine. Fifth, be so uninterested in what people think of you that you impress them with your authenticity.
CANCER (June 21-July 22): St. Rose of Lima (1586-1617) was so determined not to be lead into sin by her pretty face that she disfigured it with lye and pepper. Though you've never gone that far, Cancerian, you too have hidden or wounded your own beauty. You too have been afraid to reveal the raw majesty of your real self. Please don't do that anymore. Reject the pathological notion that undervaluing yourself can serve any good at all. To seal your commitment, I urge you to make Rose of Lima your anti-patron saint.
LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): What metaphor shall we choose to refer to the role you've played so skillfully in recent weeks, Leo? Archaeologist of the abyss? Plumber in the undertow? Scavenger of the scrap heap of history? I love the brazen resourcefulness you've summoned as you've cleaned out the gunk that was clogging up your depths. In any case, it's now time to crawl up out of the muck and onto center stage. You're primed to start blinding us all with your light again.
VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): After writing more than 30 stories about Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle got tired of him. In 1893, the English author killed off his well-loved character, sending him plunging off Reichenbach Falls while in a struggle with his archenemy, Professor Moriarty. Readers were unhappy with the decision, though, and nine years later Doyle felt compelled to revive Holmes for another long run. I nominate him to be your role model for the next few weeks, Virgo. You too will find good reasons to resurrect an influence from the past or bring an old character back into your life.
LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): Are you ready to intensify your pursuit of higher edge-ucation, Libra? We're not talking about plain old book-learning here — not about watching and studying life from a safe distance. You need to get more of the edgy kind of know-how that's only possible to scare up while immersed in the heat of the action. That doesn't necessarily mean you should hang out in a crack house or travel to a war zone. Choose a milieu that excites your spontaneous curiosity, and put yourself in the midst of its daily flow. Treat it as a laboratory that will be a rich source of experimental data.
SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): When an old tree in the rain forest dies and topples over, it takes a long time to decompose. As it does, it becomes host to new saplings that use the decaying log for nourishment. I'd like you to picture yourself, Scorpio, sitting in the forest gazing upon this scene. How would you describe it? Would you dwell in grizzly detail on the putrefaction of the fallen tree while ignoring the fresh life sprouting out of it? If you did, you'd be imitating the spirit of modern journalists. Or, instead, would you be a balanced witness, reporting on the decay and growth with equal emphasis? In the weeks to come, please be the latter. (Thanks to Ien in the Kootenay Mountains of British Columbia for inspiring this horoscope.)
SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): At the amusement park I went to last summer, there was a booth where you could get a trick photograph of yourself lodged in the jaws of a shark. I suggest you have an image like this made now, Sagittarius. It'll be a symbol of the past you're escaping from — the threatening maw that almost devoured you but didn't. Next, create a symbol of your future in the form of a second collage. For this one, paste your face on the body of a person holding a fishing pole and standing on a dock adjacent to a shark hanging upside-down from a hook.
CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): You know how it's possible to expedite the blooming of plants by cultivating them in a greenhouse? I propose that you find a comparable approach to use on your growing anxieties. In other words, Capricorn, compel your worries to mature very rapidly. That way, instead of torturing you with a slow proliferation of half-conscious apprehensions for the next four weeks, they'll ripen overnight into their full-blown state. You'll be able to have a climactic showdown with them by the end of this week and then move on to more enjoyable explorations. Schedule your worrygasm — the orgasmic culmination of your worries — for no later than Nov. 27.
AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): "Why is it so hard to find a soul mate?" asks psychologist Carolyn Godschild Miller in her book Soulmates: Following Inner Guidance to the Relationship of Your Dreams. Her answer: "Because most of us are actually searching for egomates instead. We place the most limited and unloving aspect of our minds in charge of our search for love, and then wonder why we aren't succeeding. ... To the degree that we identify with this false sense of self and operate on the basis of its limited point of view, we aren't looking for someone to love so much as recruiting fellow actors to take on supporting roles in a favorite melodrama." I suggest you make this a core meditation for the next seven weeks, Aquarius. After that, you'll be primed to move on to the next question, which is, "What can I do to enjoy life with a soul mate?"
PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): "Dear Dream Doctor: I dreamt I was caring for a beautiful golden fish in a room with two aquariums. The fish kept leaping from one aquarium to another, and my job was to scoop it up and return it to the water if it missed. I felt bad for it because it couldn't decide which aquarium it liked better. One was big and classy but sterile, and the other was small and funky but had lots of cool castles and toys. As soon as the fish jumped into one aquarium, it was already looking longingly at the one it had just left. What does my dream mean, O Wise Oracle? —Frustrated Piscean
Caretaker." Dear Frustrated: In your next dream, relocate the fish to a lake or ocean where it will have many environments to choose from.. Homework: What part of you has become too set in its ways? What can you do to rile it up into seizing wilder ways of knowing? Write