Free Will As­trol­ogy

HK Magazine - - FILM - ROB BREZSNY

Be alert for white feath­ers glid­ing on the wind. Be­fore eat­ing potato chips, ex­am­ine each one to see if it bears a like­ness of Ri­hanna or the Virgin Mary. Keep an eye out, too, for por­tents like ro­bots wear­ing dread­locked wigs or an­tique gold but­tons ly­ing in the gut­ter or se­nior cit­i­zens curs­ing at in­vis­i­ble Mar­tians. The ap­pear­ance of anom­alies like these will be omens that sug­gest you will soon be the re­cip­i­ent of crazy good for­tune. But if you would rather not wait around for chance events to trig­ger your good luck, sim­ply make it your fierce in­ten­tion to gen­er­ate it.

Use your op­ti­mism-fueled willpower and your flair for creative im­pro­vi­sa­tion. You will have abun­dant ac­cess to these tal­ents in the com­ing weeks. VIRGO (Aug 23-Sep 22): You have just be­gun your big test. How are you do­ing so far? Ac­cord­ing to my anal­y­sis, the pre­lim­i­nary signs sug­gest that you have a good chance of prov­ing the old maxim, “If it doesn’t make you so crazy that you put your clothes on in­side-out and try to kiss the sky un­til you cry, it will help you win one of your big­gest ar­gu­ments with Life.” In fact, I sus­pect we will ul­ti­mately see you un­dergo at least one mirac­u­lous and cer­ti­fi­ably melo­dra­matic trans­for­ma­tion. A wart on your at­ti­tude could dis­solve, for ex­am­ple. A lu­mi­nous visi­ta­tion may heal one of your blind spots. You might find a sat­is­fac­tory sub­sti­tute for kiss­ing the sky.

LI­BRA (Sep 23-Oct 22): For many years, my occupation was “starv­ing artist.” I fo­cused on im­prov­ing my skills as a writer and mu­si­cian, even though those ac­tiv­i­ties rarely earned me any money. To en­sure my sur­vival, I worked as lit­tle as nec­es­sary at low-end jobs—scrub­bing dishes at restau­rants, dig­ging ditches for con­struc­tion com­pa­nies, de­liv­er­ing newspapers in the mid­dle of the night, and volunteering for med­i­cal ex­per­i­ments. Dur­ing the long hours spent do­ing tasks that had lit­tle mean­ing to me, I worked dili­gently to re­main up­beat. One trick that worked well was imag­in­ing fu­ture scenes when I would be en­gaged in ex­cit­ing creative work that paid me a de­cent wage. It took a while, but even­tu­ally those vi­sions ma­te­ri­al­ized in my ac­tual life. I urge you to try this strat­egy in the com­ing months, Li­bra. Har­ness your mind’s eye in the ser­vice of gen­er­at­ing the des­tiny you want to in­habit.

SCOR­PIO (Oct 23-Nov 21): You have ev­ery right to cel­e­brate your own per­sonal In­de­pen­dence Day some­time soon. In fact, given the cur­rent as­tro­log­i­cal omens, you’d be jus­ti­fied in em­bark­ing on a full-scale eman­ci­pa­tion spree in the com­ing weeks. It will be prime time to seize more free­dom and de­clare more au­ton­omy and build more self-suf­fi­ciency. Here’s an im­por­tant nu­ance to the work you have ahead of you: Make sure you es­cape the tyranny of not just the peo­ple and in­sti­tu­tions that limit your sovereignty, but also the voices in your own head that tend to hin­der your flow.

SAGIT­TAR­IUS (Nov 22-Dec 21): Of all the for­bid­den fruits that you fan­ta­size about, which one is your fa­vorite? Among the in­trigu­ing places you con­sider to be out­side of your com­fort zone, which might in­spire you to re­de­fine the mean­ing of “com­fort”? The com­ing weeks will be a fa­vor­able time to re­con­fig­ure your re­la­tion­ship with these po­ten­tial cat­a­lysts. And while you’re out on the fron­tier dream­ing of fun ex­per­i­ments, you might also want to flirt with other wild cards and strange at­trac­tors. Life is in the mood to tickle you with use­ful sur­prises.

CAPRI­CORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): You have a spe­cial talent for ac­cess­ing wise in­no­cence. In some ways you’re vir­ginal, fresh, and raw, and in other ways you’re ma­ture, sea­soned, and well-de­vel­oped. I hope you will re­gard this not as a con­fus­ing para­dox but rather as an ex­otic strength. With your in­ner child and your in­ner men­tor work­ing in tan­dem, you could ac­com­plish heroic feats of heal­ing. Their bril­liant col­lab­o­ra­tion could also lead to the mend­ing of an old rift.

AQUARIUS (Jan 20-Feb 18): “Where is every­body when I need them?” Even if you haven’t ac­tu­ally spo­ken those words re­cently, I’m guess­ing the voices in your head have whis­pered them.

But from what I can tell, that com­plaint will soon be ir­rel­e­vant. It will no longer match re­al­ity. Your al­lies will start of­fer­ing more help and re­sources. They may not be per­fectly con­sci­en­tious in fig­ur­ing out how to be of ser­vice, but they’ll be pretty good.

Here’s what you can do to en­cour­age op­ti­mal re­sults: 1. Purge your low, out­moded ex­pec­ta­tions. 2. Open your mind and heart to the pos­si­bil­ity that peo­ple can change. 3. Humbly ask—out loud, not just in the pri­vacy of your imag­i­na­tion—for pre­cisely what you want.

PISCES (Feb 18-Mar 20): Mil­lions of Pis­ceans less for­tu­nate than you won’t read this horo­scope. Un­in­formed about the rocky patch of Yel­low Brick Road that lies just ahead, they may blow a gas­ket or get a flat tire. You, on the other hand, will ben­e­fit from my orac­u­lar fore­shad­ow­ing, as well as my in­side con­nec­tions with the Lords of Funky Karma. You will there­fore be likely to drive with re­laxed cau­tion, keeping your ve­hi­cle un­marred in the process. That’s why I’m pre­dict­ing that al­though you may not ar­rive speed­ily at the next leg of your trip, you will do so safely and in style.

ARIES (Mar 21-Apr 19): Free your body.

Don’t ru­mi­nate and ag­o­nize about it. FREE YOUR BODY! Be brave and force­ful. Do it sim­ply and eas­ily. Free your gor­geously im­per­fect, wildly in­tel­li­gent body. Al­low it to be it­self in all of its glory. Tell it you’re ready to learn more of its se­crets and adore its mys­ter­ies. Be in awe of its un­fath­omable power to end­lessly carry out the mil­lions of chem­i­cal re­ac­tions that keep you alive and thriv­ing. How can you not be over­whelmed with grat­i­tude for your hun­gry, cu­ri­ous, un­pre­dictable body? Be grate­ful for its magic. Love the bless­ings it be­stows on you. Cel­e­brate its fierce an­i­mal ele­gance.

TAU­RUS (Apr 20-May 20): The peo­ple of many cul­tures have imag­ined the sun god as pos­sess­ing mas­cu­line qual­i­ties. But in some tra­di­tions, the Mighty Father is in­com­plete with­out the re­vi­tal­iz­ing en­er­gies of the Di­vine Mother. The Maoris, for ex­am­ple, be­lieve that ev­ery night the so­lar de­ity has to mar­i­nate in her nour­ish­ing uter­ine bath. Oth­er­wise he wouldn’t be strong enough to rise in the morn­ing. And how does this ap­ply to you? Well, you cur­rently have re­sem­blances to the weary old sun as it dips be­low the hori­zon. I sus­pect it’s time to recharge your pow­ers through an ex­tended immersion in the deep, dark waters of the pri­mal fem­i­nine.

GEM­INI (May 21-Jun 20): An In­ter­est­ing Op­por­tu­nity is def­i­nitely in your vicin­ity. It may slink tan­ta­liz­ingly close to you in the com­ing days, even whis­per your name from afar. But I doubt that it will knock on your door. It prob­a­bly won’t call you seven times on the phone or flash you a big smile or send you an en­graved invitation. So you should make your­self alert for the In­ter­est­ing Op­por­tu­nity’s un­ob­tru­sive be­hav­ior. It could be a bit shy or se­cre­tive or mod­est. Once you no­tice it, you may have to come on strong—you know, talk to it sweetly or ply it with treats.

CAN­CER (Jun 21-Jul 22): [Edi­tor’s note:

The coun­sel of­fered in the fol­low­ing or­a­cle was chan­neled from the God­dess by Rob Brezsny. If you have any prob­lems with it, di­rect your protests to the Queen Wow, not Brezsny.] It’s time to get more earthy and prac­ti­cal about prac­tic­ing your high ideals and spir­i­tual val­ues. Trans­late your lofti­est in­ten­tions into your most in­ti­mate be­hav­ior. Ask your­self, “How does God­dess want me to re­spond when my co-worker pisses me off?”, or “How would God­dess like me to brush my teeth and watch TV and make love?”

For extra credit, get a t-shirt that says, “God­dess was my co-pi­lot, but we crash-landed in the wilder­ness and I was forced to eat her.”

Is it pos­si­ble there’s some­thing you re­ally need but you don’t know what it is? Write

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