Free Will As­trol­ogy

HK Magazine - - FREE WILL ASTROLOGY - ROB BREZSNY

CAN­CER (Jun 21-Jul 22):

If you are smoothly at­tuned with the cosmic rhythms and finely aligned with your un­con­scious wis­dom, you could wake up one morn­ing and find that a men­tal block has mirac­u­lously crum­bled, in­stantly rais­ing your in­tel­li­gence. If you can find it in your proud heart to sur­ren­der to “God,” your weird­est dilemma will get at least par­tially solved dur­ing a mag­i­cal three-hour in­ter­lude. And if you are able to for­give 50 per­cent of the wrongs that have been done to you in the last six years, you will no longer feel like you’re run­ning into a strong wind, but rather you’ll feel like the ben­e­fi­ciary of a strong wind blow­ing in the same di­rec­tion you’re headed.

LEO (Jul 23-Aug 22):

How of­ten have you vis­ited hell or the sub­urbs of hell dur­ing the last few weeks? Ac­cord­ing to my guessti­mates, the time you spent there was ex­actly the right amount. You got the teach­ings you needed most, in­clud­ing a few tricks about how to steer clear of hell in the fu­ture. With this valu­able in­for­ma­tion, you will forever­more be smarter about how to avoid un­nec­es­sary pain and ir­rel­e­vant hin­drances. So con­grat­u­la­tions! I sug­gest you cel­e­brate. And please use your new-found wis­dom as you de­cline one last in­vi­ta­tion to visit the heart of a big, hot mess.

VIRGO (Aug 23-Sep 22):

My friend Athena works as a masseuse. She says that the high­est praise she can re­ceive is drool. When her clients feel so sub­limely serene that threads of spit droop out of their mouths, she knows she’s in top form. You might trig­ger re­sponses akin to drool in the com­ing weeks, Virgo. Even if you don’t work as a massage ther­a­pist, I think it’s pos­si­ble you’ll pro­voke rather ex­treme ex­pres­sions of ap­proval, long­ing, and cu­rios­ity. You will be at the height of your power to in­spire po­tent feel­ings in those you en­counter. In light of this sit­u­a­tion, you might want to wear a small sign or but­ton that reads, “You have my per­mis­sion to drool freely.”

LIBRA (Sep 23-Oct 22):

The lat­est Free Will As­trol­ogy poll shows that thirty-three per­cent of your friends, loved ones, and ac­quain­tances ap­prove of your grab for glory. Thirty-eight per­cent dis­ap­prove, eigh­teen per­cent re­main un­de­cided, and eleven per­cent wish you would grab for even greater glory. As for me, I’m aligned with the eleven-per­cent mi­nor­ity. Here’s what I say: Don’t al­low your quest for shiny break­throughs and bril­liant ac­com­plish­ments to be overly in­flu­enced by what peo­ple think of you.

SCORPIO (Oct 23-Nov 21):

You are at the pin­na­cle of your pow­ers to both hurt and heal. Your tur­bu­lent yearn­ings could dis­rupt the in­tegrity of those whose self-knowl­edge is shaky, even as your smol­der­ing ra­di­ance can il­lu­mi­nate the dark­ness for those who are lost or weak. As strong and con­fi­dent as I am, even I would be cautious about en­gag­ing your tricky in­tel­li­gence. Your pierc­ing per­cep­tions and wild un­der­stand­ings might ei­ther undo me or vi­tal­ize me. Given these volatile con­di­tions, I ad­vise ev­ery­one to ap­proach you as if you were a love bomb or a truth fire or a beauty tor­nado.

SAGIT­TAR­IUS (Nov 22-Dec 21):

Here’s the deal: I will con­fess a dark se­cret from my past if you con­fess an equiv­a­lent se­cret from yours. Shall I go first? When I first got started in the busi­ness of writ­ing horoscope col­umns, I con­trib­uted a sexed-up monthly edi­tion to a porn magazine pub­lished by smut mag­nate Larry Flynt. What’s even more scan­dalous is that I en­joyed do­ing it. OK. It’s your turn. Lo­cate a com­pas­sion­ate lis­tener who won’t judge you harshly, and un­veil one of your sub­ter­ranean mys­ter­ies. You may be sur­prised at how much psy­chic en­ergy this will lib­er­ate. (For ex­tra credit and eman­ci­pa­tion, spill two or even three se­crets.)

CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19):

What do you want to be when you grow up, Capricorn? What? You say you are al­ready all grown up, and my ques­tion is ir­rel­e­vant? If that’s your firm be­lief, I will ask you to set it aside for now. I’ll in­vite you to en­ter­tain the pos­si­bil­ity that maybe some parts of you are not in fact fully ma­ture; that no mat­ter how ripe you imag­ine your­self to be, you could be­come even riper—an even more gor­geous ver­sion of your best self. I will also en­cour­age you to im­merse your­self in a mood of play­ful fun as you re­spond to the fol­low­ing ques­tion: “How can I ac­ti­vate and em­body an even more com­plete ver­sion of my soul’s code?”

AQUAR­IUS (Jan 20-Feb 19):

On a sum­mer day 20 years ago, I took my five-year-old daugh­ter Zoe and her friend Max to the merry-go-round in San Fran­cisco’s Golden Gate Park. Zoe jumped on the el­e­gant golden-maned lion and Max mounted the wild blue horse. Me? I climbed aboard the hum­ble pig. Its squat pink body didn’t seem de­signed for rapid move­ment. Its timid gaze was fixed on the floor in front of it. As the man who op­er­ated the ride came around to see if ev­ery­one was in place, he con­grat­u­lated me on my bold choice. Very few rid­ers pre­ferred the porker, he said. Not glam­orous enough. “But I’m sure I will ar­rive at our des­ti­na­tion as quickly and ef­fi­ciently as ev­ery­one else,” I replied. Your im­me­di­ate fu­ture, Aquar­ius, has sym­bolic re­sem­blances to this scene.

PISCES (Feb 18-Mar 20):

Early on in our work to­gether, my psy­chother­a­pist con­fessed that she only works with clients whose prob­lems are in­ter­est­ing to her. In part, her mo­ti­va­tions are self­ish: Her goal is to en­joy her work. But her mo­ti­va­tions are also al­tru­is­tic. She feels she’s not likely to be of service to any­one with whom she can’t be deeply en­gaged. I un­der­stand this per­spec­tive, and am in­clined to make it more uni­ver­sal. Isn’t it smart to pick all our al­lies ac­cord­ing to this prin­ci­ple? Ev­ery one of us is a mess in one way or an­other, so why not choose to blend our fates with those whose messi­ness en­ter­tains us and teaches us the most? I sug­gest you ex­per­i­ment with this view in the com­ing weeks and months, Pisces.

ARIES (Mar 21-Apr 19):

Up­com­ing ad­ven­tures might make you more manly if you are a woman. If you are a man, the com­ing es­capades could make you more wom­anly. How about if you’re trans? Odds are that you’ll be­come even more gen­der fluid. I am ex­ag­ger­at­ing a bit, of course. The trans­for­ma­tions I’m re­fer­ring to may not be vis­i­ble to ca­sual ob­servers. They will mostly un­fold in the depths of your psy­che. But they won’t be merely sym­bolic, ei­ther. There’ll be mu­ta­tions in your bio­chem­istry that will ex­pand your sense of your own gen­der. If you re­spond en­thu­si­as­ti­cally to these shifts, you will be­gin a process that could turn you into an even more com­plete and at­trac­tive hu­man be­ing than you al­ready are.

TAURUS (Apr 20-May 20):

I’ll name five heroic tasks you will have more than enough power to ac­com­plish in the next eight months. 1. Turn­ing an ad­ver­sary into an ally. 2. Con­vert­ing a de­bil­i­tat­ing ob­ses­sion into a em­pow­er­ing pas­sion. 3. Trans­form­ing an ob­sta­cle into a mo­ti­va­tor. 4. Dis­cov­er­ing small trea­sures in the midst of junk and de­cay. 5. Us­ing the un­solved rid­dles of child­hood to cre­ate a liv­ing shrine to eter­nal youth. 6. Gath­er­ing a slew of new free­dom songs, learn­ing them by heart, and singing them reg­u­larly—es­pe­cially when ha­bit­ual fears rise up in you.

GEMINI (May 21-Jun 20):

Your life has re­sem­blances to a jig­saw puz­zle that lies unassem­bled on a kitchen ta­ble. Un­be­knownst to you, but re­vealed to you by me, a few of the pieces are miss­ing. Maybe your cat knocked them un­der the re­frig­er­a­tor, or they fell out of their stor­age box some­where along the way. But this doesn’t have to be a prob­lem. I be­lieve you can mostly put to­gether the puz­zle with­out the miss­ing frag­ments. At the end, when you’re fin­ished, you may be tempted to feel frus­tra­tion that the pic­ture’s not com­plete. But that would be il­log­i­cal per­fec­tion­ism. Ninety-seven-per­cent suc­cess will be just fine.

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