Taurus (April 20-May 20): Welcome, students. Close your books, break your pencils, and forget everything you know. Your education is about to take a strange and wonderful turn. During the next 3 1/2 weeks, I predict that you'll double your street smarts and find a whole new meaning for the term "hands-on experience." It's been way too long since you opened your doors of perception this wide, seeker. I'm glad you decided to go hunting for a fresh set of questions.
Gemini (May 21-June 20): My accountant used to be a psychotherapist, and in her off-hours she enjoys writing outrageous poetry. It is deeply calming for me to know that the person who wrestles with my money also traffics in the mysteries of the soul. Then there's my physician, a Nigerian-born M.D. who's licensed to practice both homeopathy and traditional Western medicine. These two women are symbols of the radical unification I love and seek everywhere. All the astrological indicators tell me, Gemini, that you'll be attracting a lot of this kind of beauty in the next couple of weeks. I suggest you make it feel very welcome; invite it to become a permanent presence in your life.
Cancer (June 21-July 22): Every Sunday afternoon I go to the post office and sift through the garbage cans for goodies that people have thrown away. It's sort of like consulting the I Ching or Tarot. I assume that whatever trashy treasures catch my eye will yield oracles that I didn't consciously realize I needed to know. This particular form of "divination by scavenging" isn't for everyone, and I won't impose that as an absolute condition for your enlightenment this week, Cancer. Try, however, to come up with two less gross methods that you'd be personally comfortable with. Channel-surfing through the talk shows might work, for instance, or opening to random pages in your old journals.
Leo (July 23-Aug. 22): In recent weeks, you've crafted some sweet solutions to riddles that had hounded you for a long time. Now, though, the cosmos seems to have gotten bored with you being so relentlessly successful. (Damn fickle cosmos just never wants to stay in one place very long.) Therefore, Leo, you can expect to be staring a Fresh Juicy Enigma in the maw very soon. "Penetrating so many secrets, we cease to believe in the unknowable," quoth H.L. Mencken. "But there it sits nevertheless, calmly licking its chops."
Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): It's not that I'm lazy, Virgo. It's just that I stumbled on the perfect ready-made oracle for you in the form of a passage from a diary found stuffed inside a bottle that washed up on a beach in Fiji. (Thanks to Surfer magazine for passing it along.) Here it is: "Television and murders and gangs and politics and earthquakes and guns and car crashes and rapes and drugs and mean people can all just kiss my ass because I just found a world-class wave."
Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): First there was the WWJD movement. It urged its adherents to ask "What would Jesus do?" as they approached each decision in their lives. Then there came the book If the Buddha Dated: A Handbook for Finding Love on a Spiritual Path. Inspired by all this noble pragmatism, I'd like to make a suggestion, Libra. As you shift from your explorer mode to your power-broker mode, keep asking yourself the question, "How would Mother Teresa apply the politically savvy principles of Machiavelli?"
Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): Your mind is in and out of the gutter, Scorpio, apparently trying to decide if it should pursue its highest or lowest desires. Your mood swings are so rapid and frequent that often they're flailing both ways at once. Sometimes I think you're more honest and sensitive than the rest of us, other times I think you're just trying to scare us into loving you better. My guess is you can't go on like this. As entertaining as it is, you're going to have to come down on one side or another. So: Is life a beach or a bitch? Are you a punch-drunk fighter trying to find safe haven, or a sleek warrior who has so thoroughly outclassed the opposition that you don't even need to fight?
Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): It's quite possible you'll soon be asked to appear as a grape in a Fruit of the Loom TV commercial. Or perhaps your great-uncle will die, leaving you a sweet little piece of Arkansas farmland. Who knows? You may even unearth the smoking-gun clue that's been missing all these years, or be invited to join an orgy of kinky yet compassionate saints, or win a free trip to see the world's biggest ketchup bottle. One way or another, Sagittarius, I predict that you're about to be the beneficiary of a possibly nonsensical but definitely delightful surprise.
Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Russian faith-healing superstar Anatoly Kashpirovsky has astounded observers with his apparent ability to alleviate hernias, menstrual cramps, and depression with his psychic powers. Merely by watching him on TV, many viewers claim he has smoothed away their facial wrinkles and warmed their cold feet. I bring this up because I believe there's a little bit of Kashpirovsky in all you Capricorns this week -- especially when you direct your miraculous curative powers toward yourself. Merely by winking at your image in the mirror, you could remedy inflammations, allergies, addictions, and the lingering remnants of a broken heart.
Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): Imagine it's World War II and you're an ordinary Polish businessman who's just realized he has the means to save countless Jews from certain death at the hands of the Nazis. Imagine how dramatically you would have to change -- how much bigger your life would have to become -- if you dared to take on this challenge. Would you have the guts to abandon some of your comforts for the sake of a higher cause? Would you have the resourcefulness and stamina to finish what you started, even if the task turned out to be far more demanding than you ever imagined? I don't mean to imply that you'll be offered an invitation quite as momentous as the Polish businessman's, Aquarius; but if it turns out to be even one-tenth of 1 percent as intense, I'd like you to be prepared.
Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20): Uh-oh. I feel a permissive mood coming on -- in the cosmos, that is, not me. Frankly, I'm in a more conservative mood than the cosmos. But for whatever reason, the planetary powers-that-be have decided to float you a load of poetic licenses, blank checks, special dispensations, and maximum-security clearances. I just hope all this free stuff won't blow away the finely crafted new containers and boundaries you've been working on. Maybe I'd feel better if you promised you wouldn't use up all your permissions in the first three days. Will you please save a few for later?