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Horoscopes for week of July 16, 2009
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  Cuckoo birds build no nests of their own. Instead, they rely on trickery to raise their young. The female cuckoo lays her eggs in the nest of a host whose eggs are similar in size and color. The host, often a sparrow, cares for the cuckoo's eggs as her own, and usually rears the hatchlings until they reach maturity. Does this behavior ring a bell? I suspect that something analogous is unfolding in your world. I'm alerting you to the situation so that you will be fully informed as you decide how to proceed. (P.S. I'm not saying this is a bad thing; just want you to acknowledge the truth.)
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  I hate to admit it, but love is not always enough to solve every problem. On some occasions you need love, clever insights, strategic maneuvers, and fierce determination. In my astrological opinion, this is one of those times. Take a moment right now to shush the grumbling dialogue you keep having with yourself about what's fair and what you deserve. Save all that mental energy for the work of fighting like hell for the fair share you deserve. Oh, and while you're fighting like hell, don't forget to be as strategic as Gandhi, as loving as Einstein, and as fiercely determined as Jack Black, Ben Stiller, and Sarah Silverman combined.
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  I invite you to write down brief descriptions of the five most pleasurable moments you've ever experienced in your life. Let your imagination dwell lovingly on these memories for, say, 20 minutes. And keep them close to the surface of your awareness in the week ahead. If you ever catch yourself slipping into a negative train of thought, interrupt it immediately and compel yourself to fantasize about those Big Five Ecstatic Moments. This exercise will be an excellent way to prime yourself for a New Age of Unhurried Bliss and Gentle Beauty, which I predict is just ahead for you. If you can keep the morose part of your mind quiet, there's a good chance you will stir up a new ecstatic experience that will belong near the top of your all-time list.
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  Welcome to your aromatherapy workshop, Leo. We'll be using imaginary scents because, frankly, sometimes fantasy yields better results than the real thing. (Especially for you right now; keep that in mind as you deal with other situations in your life.) For your first exercise, imagine the aromas of eucalyptus and vinegar. That'll clear your head of static, creating a nice big empty space for your fresh assignment to come pouring in from the future. Next, imagine the fragrance of hot buttered popcorn. It will make you more receptive to the outside help that has been trying and trying and trying to attract your attention. Have you ever taken a new computer out of the box? Remember that smell? Simulate it now. In your subconscious mind, it will awaken the expectation that the next chapter of your life story is about to begin.
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  O ye of little faith: Do ye not understand that the events of mid-July through mid-August of 2009 are but the fruition of seeds ye planted in September, October, and November of last year? Do not thank or blame the gods, but only thyself, for the destiny that is upon ye. Now please prepare to assume thy new goodies and perks, O favored one, as well as thy new temptations and headaches, with full knowledge that ye are receiving the exact rewards and responsibilities ye earned many months ago.
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  Sometimes this job of mine grinds me down with a heavy sense of responsibility. Am I doing the right thing by divulging so many cosmic secrets? Do people use my advice in good ways? This week I'm especially tormented. Would it be ethical of me to reveal that you could dig a hot tip out of a wastebasket, or that you could prosper because of someone else's foolishness? Or how about if I disclosed that you've temporarily acquired a dicey edge over a competitor who's previously kicked your butt? And would it be mean of me to suggest that you shouldn't share a vast idea with a half-vast person? I guess I'll just have to trust that you'll show maximum integrity in using all of this inside dope.
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  There goes your exaggerated respect for warped chunks of complications. Here comes an opportunity to make a break for bubbly freedom. To take advantage, Scorpio, you'll need to travel much lighter. So please peel off your armor. Wipe that forty-pound sneer of doubt off your face. Bury your broken-down theories by the side of the path, and donate all your unnecessary props to the birds and the bees. Strip down, in other words, to the bare minimum. Where you're going all you'll need are your good looks and a big fresh attitude.
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  Don't leave me hanging, Sagittarius. What happens next? How could you even imagine you've wrapped the whole thing up? According to my analysis, you've got at least one more riddle to solve, one more gift to negotiate, one more scar to wish upon. (Yes, that says "scar," not "star.") To stop pushing for more adventure at this pregnant moment would be a crime against nature and a whole chapter short of a bestseller. Get out there and bring this story home.
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  It makes me famished just to think of you there stewing in your hunger. You almost remind me of a bear that's just awoken from hibernation or a political prisoner who's been on a hunger strike. And yet I know it's not a craving for food that you're suffering from. It's not even an impossible yearning for sex or fame or power or money, either. You're starving, you're ravenous, you're mad for something you don't have a name for -- something whose existence you don't fully understand and can't quite imagine. But I predict you'll uncover a fuller truth about this thing very soon, and then you'll be more than halfway toward gratifying your hunger.
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  If I were your daddy, I'd take you mountain-climbing or buy you a three-week intensive class in the foreign tongue of your choice. If I were your president, I'd give you a Purple Heart for your undercover heroism and make you ambassador to Italy. If I were your therapist, I'd send you on a pilgrimage to a sanctuary where everyone means exactly what they say. But I'm merely your five-minutes-a-week consultant, so all I can really do is say, "Escape the cramped quarters of your own mind. Slip away from the corners you've been backed into. Stop telling the convoluted stories you've concocted to rationalize why you should be afraid. Get out of the loop and escape into the big, fresh places that will rejuvenate your eyes and heart."
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  Long-standing myths are on the verge of mutating. Stories that have remained fixed for years are about to acquire unexpected wrinkles. The effects may be pretty spectacular. I suspect it'll be the equivalent of Sleeping Beauty waking up from her long sleep without the help of the prince's kiss, or like Little Red Riding Hood devouring the wolf instead of vice versa. There's something you can do, Pisces, to ensure that the new versions of the old tales are more empowering than the originals: For the foreseeable future, take on the demeanor and spirit of a noble warrior with high integrity and a fluid sense of humor.
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© 1995-2013 -- Rob Brezsny. All rights reserved
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