More Free Will Astrology

You know, when read­ing Rob Brezs­ny, I find myself not car­ing at all about any skep­ti­cism regard­ing astrol­o­gy. He’s just freakin’ inspi­ra­tional, and good stuff is good stuff no mat­ter where it comes from. This week’s newslet­ter starts out:

We here at Rob Brezs­ny’s Free Will Astrol­o­gy Newsletter
believe that
evil is boring,
fear is hackneyed,
despair is a bad habit,
and cyn­i­cism is stupid.

Which is why we offer this proposal:
Choose a peri­od of time, say a week or a month or a year. During
that span, act as if life is crazi­ly in love with you—wildly and
inno­cent­ly in love with you. Assume that secret helpers are
work­ing behind the scenes to assist you in becom­ing the gorgeous
mir­a­cle you were born to be.

My sun sign says:
SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): I pre­dict that in 2003, researchers will use genet­ic engi­neer­ing to devel­op high-yield soy and corn crops that thrive on tox­ic sludge and acid rain. I fur­ther pre­dict that many of you Scor­pios will pro­duce anal­o­gous mar­vels in your per­son­al lives. Some of you will exploit your old psy­chic garbage to cre­ate bar­ri­ers that’ll pre­vent the influx of more psy­chic garbage in the future; some of you will be dri­ven by your night­mares to gen­er­ate bright bless­ings; and some of you will turn your most acute pain into your hottest inspiration.

And I near­ly missed this at the bottom:
HOMEWORK: Home­work: For five min­utes, visu­al­ize the best pos­si­ble thing that could hap­pen to you in 2003. Then spend an hour car­ry­ing out a task that’ll lead to the best pos­si­ble thing actu­al­ly occur­ring. Tell me about it if you like by going to www.freewillastrology.com and click­ing on “Email Rob.”

I’ve got­ten in the habit of look­ing at my loves’ sun signs, as well. I got incred­i­bly excit­ed about this one for god­dessin­ga:
LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): In the future, it won’t be the mate­r­i­al trea­sures you accu­mu­late that will win you the most brag­ging points. It won’t be the impor­tant peo­ple you know or the deals you’ve swung or the knowl­edge you’ve amassed or your mate’s attrac­tive­ness. No, what will be most boast-wor­thy in the world
to come will be your suc­cess in wrestling your shadow—how thor­ough­ly you can tame the igno­rant, flawed, self­ish aspects of your own nature. Each of us is giv­en an equal share of that lead­en stuff, but some are more relent­less­ly inge­nious in trans­mut­ing it into gold. And it’s now prime time for you, Leo, to make rapid
progress towards mas­ter­ing that pow­er­ful magic.

This one, for sam­bear, made me won­der about next week’s court date:
CANCER (June 21-July 22): Upon com­plet­ing *The Book of Ephraim,* Pulitzer Prize-win­ning poet James Mer­rill believed he’d fin­ished writ­ing about the reju­ve­na­tion of his spir­i­tu­al life, which had been unfold­ing for sev­er­al years. But he was wrong. When he and a friend picked up the oui­ja board soon thereafter,
Mer­rill was giv­en notice that he had more to do. “3 OF YOUR YEARES MORE WE WANT,” barked the oui­ja spir­its, who appar­ent­ly dwelt in a realm with odd spelling rules and no low­er­case. “WE MUST HAVE / POEMS OF SCIENCE THE WEORK FINISHT IS BUT A PROLOGUE.” If you con­sult­ed the ouija
board right now, Can­cer­ian, I bet you’d chan­nel a com­pa­ra­ble mes­sage con­cern­ing your own path. Here’s my pre­dic­tion: A labor of love you expect­ed to cli­max soon will ask you — per­haps even com­mand you — to give it more time.

And final­ly, for greyknight:
LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): In the com­ing week, steep your­self in the sounds of gos­samer melodies as much as pos­si­ble, prefer­ably while bathing in soft, gold­en light and sip­ping hot, sweet tea. Move and think and read slow­ly in the safest places you know while exult­ing qui­et­ly in the sooth­ing touch of vel­vet or cash­mere next to your skin. In Feb­ru­ary you can careen wild­ly out to the edges of real­i­ty, bedecked in vivid acces­sories and on the prowl for delight­ful upheavals; but for now devote your­self to the cul­ti­va­tion of lumi­nous, mur­mur­ing plea­sures that com­fort you all the way down to the bot­tom of your life.