Free Will Astrol­ogy

HK Magazine - - FILM - ROB BREZSNY

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): You may some­times be drawn to peo­ple or places or ideas long be­fore they can give you their gifts. Al­though you sense their po­ten­tial value, you might have to ripen be­fore you’ll be ready to re­ceive their full bounty. Here’s how author Elias Canetti ex­pressed it: “There are books, that one has for twenty years with­out read­ing them, that one al­ways keeps at hand, yet one care­fully re­frains from read­ing even a com­plete sen­tence. Then af­ter twenty years, there comes a mo­ment when sud­denly, as though un­der a high com­pul­sion, one can­not help tak­ing in such a book from be­gin­ning to end, at one sit­ting: it is like a rev­e­la­tion.” I fore­see a com­pa­ra­ble tran­si­tion hap­pen­ing for you, Aquarius.

PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): The Lean­ing Tower of Pisa is eight stories high, in­clud­ing its bel­fry, and tilts side­ways at a four-de­gree an­gle. When builders started construction back in 1173, they laid a weak foun­da­tion in un­sta­ble soil, and the build­ing has never stood straight since then. And yet it is the most lu­cra­tive tourist at­trac­tion in the city of Pisa, and one of the top ten in Italy. Its flaw is the source of its fame and glory. What’s the equiv­a­lent in your world, Pisces? Now is a fa­vor­able time to take new or extra ad­van­tage of some­thing you con­sider im­per­fect or blem­ished.

ARIES (March 21-April 19): The Bi­ble’s Book of Ex­o­dus tells the story of the time Moses al­most met God. “Show me your glory, please,” the prophet says to his de­ity, who’s hid­ing. “You can­not see my face,” God replies, “but I will show you my back parts.” That’s good enough for Moses. He agrees. I hope that you, too, will be sat­is­fied with a tan­ta­liz­ingly par­tial epiphany, Aries. I’m pretty sure that if you ask nicely, you can get a glimpse of a splen­dor that’s as mean­ing­ful to you as God was to Moses. It may only be the “back parts,” but that should still stir you and en­rich you.

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): The ar­chaic English word “quain­trelle” refers to a wo­man who treats her life as a work of art. She is passionate about cul­ti­vat­ing beauty and plea­sure and wit in ev­ery­thing she is and does. But she’s not a nar­cis­sis­tic so­cialite. She’s not a snooty slave to elit­ist no­tions of style. Her aim is higher and sweeter: to be an im­pec­ca­ble, well-crafted fount of in­spi­ra­tion and bless­ings. I pro­pose that we re­sus­ci­tate and tin­ker with this term, and make it avail­able to you. In 2016, you Tau­ruses of all gen­ders will be in­clined to in­cor­po­rate el­e­ments of the quain­trelle, and you will also be skilled at do­ing so. If you have not yet dived in to this fun work, start now!

GEMINI (May 21-June 20): Sufi teacher (and Gemini) Idries Shah of­fered this teach­ing: “They say that when Fortune knocks, you should open the door. But why should you make Fortune knock, by keep­ing the door shut?” Let’s make this your fea­tured med­i­ta­tion, Gemini. If there is any­where in your life where prover­bial doors are shut—ei­ther in the world out­side of you or the world in­side of you—un­lock them and open them wide. Make it easy for Fortune to reach you.

CAN­CER (June 21-July 22): Many Cance­ri­ans har­bor a chronic ache of melan­choly about what they’re miss­ing. The un­avail­able experience in ques­tion could be an ad­ven­ture they wish they were hav­ing or an ab­sent ally they long to be near or a goal they wish they had time to pur­sue. That’s the bad news. The good news is that you can har­ness the chronic ache. In fact, it’s your birthright as a Cance­rian to do so. If you sum­mon the willpower to pull your­self up out of the melan­choly, you can turn its mild poi­son into a fuel that drives you to get at least some of what you’ve been miss­ing. Now is a fa­vor­able time to do just that.

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): How will the next chap­ter of your story un­fold? I sus­pect there are two pos­si­ble sce­nar­ios. In one ver­sion, the abun­dance of choices over­whelms you. You get bogged down in an ex­cit­ing but debilitating mud­dle, and be­come fraz­zled, fre­netic, and over­wrought. In the other pos­si­ble sce­nario, you nav­i­gate your way through the lav­ish free­dom with fi­nesse. Your in­tu­ition re­veals ex­actly how to make good use of the fer­tile con­tra­dic­tions. You’re crafty, adapt­able, and ef­fec­tive. So which way will you go? How will the tale un­fold? I think it’s com­pletely up to you. Blind fate will have lit­tle to do with it. For best re­sults, all you have to do is stay in close touch with the shin­ing vi­sion of what you re­ally want.

VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): “To hell with my suf­fer­ing,” wrote Arthur Rim­baud in his poem “May Ban­ners.” I sug­gest you make that your mantra for now. Any­time you feel a sour thought im­ping­ing on your per­cep­tions, say, “To hell with my suf­fer­ing.” And then im­me­di­ately fol­low it up with an ex­pos­tu­la­tion from an­other Rim­baud poem, “It’s all too beau­ti­ful.” Be ruth­less about this, Virgo. If you sense an im­mi­nent out­break of pet­ti­ness, or if a crit­i­cal voice in your head blurts out a curse, or if a pesky ghost nags you, sim­ply say, “To hell with my suf­fer­ing,” and then, “It’s all too beau­ti­ful.” In this way, you can take ad­van­tage of the fact that you now have more power over your emo­tional pain than usual.

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): “I like peo­ple who un­bal­ance me,” says Ir­ish writer Colum McCann. Nor­mally I wouldn’t dream of en­cour­ag­ing you to make the same dec­la­ra­tion, Libra. My in­stinct is to help you do ev­ery­thing nec­es­sary to main­tain har­mony. But now is one of those rare times when you can thrive on what hap­pens when you be­come a bit tilted or un­even or ir­reg­u­lar. That’s be­cause the in­flu­ences that un­bal­ance you will be the same in­flu­ences that tickle your fancy and charge your bat­ter­ies and ring your bell and siz­zle your ba­con.

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): The African As­so­ci­a­tion was a 19th-cen­tury Bri­tish group ded­i­cated to ex­plor­ing West Africa. Its mem­bers hoped to rem­edy Euro­peans’ ig­no­rance about the area’s ge­og­ra­phy. In one of the As­so­ci­a­tion’s most am­bi­tious projects, it com­mis­sioned an ad­ven­turer named Henry Ni­cholls to dis­cover the ori­gin and to chart the course of the leg­endary Niger River. Ni­cholls and his crew set out by ship in their quest, trav­el­ing north up a river that emp­tied into the Gulf of Guinea. They didn’t re­al­ize, and never fig­ured out, that they were al­ready on the Niger River. I’m won­der­ing if there’s a com­pa­ra­ble sit­u­a­tion go­ing on in your life, Scorpio. You may be look­ing for some­thing that you have al­ready found.

SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): Richard P. Feyn­man was a bril­liant physi­cist who won a No­bel Prize in 1965 for his pi­o­neer­ing work in quan­tum elec­tro­dy­nam­ics. He also played the bongo drums and was a competent artist. But ex­ces­sive pride was not a prob­lem for him. “I’m smart enough to know that I’m dumb,” he tes­ti­fied. “The first prin­ci­ple is that you must not fool your­self—and you are the eas­i­est per­son to fool.” I sug­gest you adopt him as your role model for the next two weeks, Sagittarius. All of us need pe­ri­odic re­minders that we’ve got a lot to learn, and this is your time. Be extra vig­i­lant in pro­tect­ing your­self from your own mis­in­for­ma­tion and mis­di­rec­tion.

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Food con­nois­seur An­thony Bour­dain has a TV show that en­ables him to travel the globe in­dulging in his love of ex­otic cui­sine. He takes his sen­sual de­lights se­ri­ously. In Charleston, South Carolina, he was ec­static to experience the fla­vor­ful bliss of soft­shell crab with le­mon pasta and shaved bot­targa. “Frankly,” he told his din­ing com­pan­ion, “I’d slit my best friend’s throat for this.” Bour­dain was ex­ag­ger­at­ing for comic ef­fect, but I’m con­cerned you may ac­tu­ally feel that strongly about the grat­i­fi­ca­tions that are al­most within your grasp. I have no prob­lem with you get­ting su­per-in­tense in pur­suit of your en­joy­ment. But please stop short of tak­ing ex­treme mea­sures. You know why.

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