(November 22-December 21): If you say “rabbit rabbit rabbit” as soon as you wake up on the first day of the month, you will have good luck for the next 30 to 31 days. At least that’s how reality works according to a British superstition. But judging from your astrological omens, I don’t think you will have to resort to magic tricks like that to stimulate your good fortune. In the next four weeks, I suspect you will be the beneficiary of a flood of cosmic mojo, as well as a surge of divine woowoo, a shower of astral juju, and an upwelling of universal googoo gaga. If it would give you even more confidence to invoke your favorite superstitions, though, go right ahead. Even scientists say that kind of thing works: tinyurl.com/SuperstitiousBoost.
(December 22-January 19): According to Greek myth, Perseus cut off the head of Medusa. She was the creature whose hair was composed of snakes and whose gaze could turn a person into stone. The immortal winged horse Pegasus was instantaneously born from Medusa’s blood. He ultimately became an ally to the nine Muses, and Zeus relied on him to carry thunder and lightning. I predict that while you’re sleeping, Capricorn, you will have a dream that contains elements of this myth. Here’s a preliminary interpretation of that dream: You are undergoing a transition that could in a sense give you the power of flight and a more abundant access to a muse.
(January 20-February 18): It’s time for you to be leader of the pack, Aquarius; to take your gang to the next level; to make sure the group mind isn’t suppressing innovation and enforcing peer pressure but is rather inspiring every member of the tribe to be as creative as they dare to be. And if it’s not realistic for you to wield that much power, then do whatever you can to synergize the alliances that hold your posse together. Build team morale. Gossip constructively. Conspire to animate an influx of fresh magic.
(February 19-March 20): If you’re a food company that wants to sell chicken in the shape of a chicken wing, it must have actual chicken wing meat in it. Otherwise, the law says you’ve got to call your product “wyngz.” I’ve always thought that there’s a lot of information the media presents as “news” that is really as fake as wyngz. That’s why I advocate calling the bogus stuff “newzak” (rhymes with “muzak”). Your assignment in the coming weeks, Pisces, is to make sure you’re not putting out any wyngz- or newzak-like stuff in your own chosen field. The fates will help you rather dramatically if you put a high premium on authenticity.
(March 21-April 19): “They are trying to make me into a fixed star,” complained religious leader Martin Luther a few centuries ago. “I am an irregular planet.” I invite you to use that declaration as your own in the coming weeks. You have every right to avoid being pinned down, pigeonholed, and forced to be consistent. According to my reading of the astrological omens, you need abundant freedom to mutate your identity. You deserve a poetic license that allows you to play a variety of different roles and explore the pleasures of unpredictable self-expression.
(April 20-May 20): “The Star-Spangled Banner” is America’s national anthem. It features the lyrics of a patriotic poem written by Francis Scott Key. But the melody itself is entirely lifted from a bawdy old song that celebrates Bacchus, the ancient god of wine and ecstatic dancing. I love it when things are repurposed as dramatically as that. Do you? The coming weeks will be prime time to repurpose stuff with creative abandon. Make the past useful for the future, Taurus. Turn good old ideas into fantastic new ones. Don’t just recycle; transform.
(May 21-June 20): I’m guessing that in the coming weeks you will be receiving a multitude of inquiries, invitations, and temptations—probably more than you feel capable of responding to, and certainly more than you should respond to. A few of these opportunities might be appealing and lead to interesting adventures. But some will be useless, diversionary, or trivial. Will you be able to tell the difference? That’s your big challenge. If you’d like help dodging unwanted solicitations, give out this phone number as your own: (212) 479-7990. It’s a free service provide by “The Rejection Line” at Rejectionline.com. People calling that number will be politely told you aren’t available.
(June 21-July 22): For millennia, the plant known as the yellow avalanche lily has thrived on mountain slopes and meadows throughout western North America. It blooms early in the spring, just in time for broad-tailed hummingbirds that migrate from Central America to sip the flower’s nectar. But now there’s a problem with that ancient arrangement. Due to global warming, the lily now blossoms 17 days earlier than it used to. But the hummingbirds haven’t made an adjustment in their schedule, so they’re barely showing up in time to get their full allotment of nectar. I suspect this is a metaphor for a shift you may be facing in your own life rhythm. Fortunately, you’ve been forewarned, and you can adjust better than the hummingbirds.
(July 23-August 22): In our calendar, there is no special holiday devoted to honoring the joy and power of rebellion. This oversight confounds me. All my experience tells me that the urge to revolt is a fundamental human need. Every one of us has a sacred duty to regularly rise up and overthrow a stale status quo that is oppressing us—whether that’s an organized group effort we’re part of or our own deadening routine. I’m telling you this, Leo, because it’s an excellent time to celebrate your own Rebellion Jubilee. Your vitality will soar as you shed numbing habits and decaying traditions.
(August 23-September 22): Recently you’ve had resemblances to an 8-year-old kid wearing the pajamas you loved when you were 5. Your bare arms are jutting out beyond where the sleeves end, and there’s a similar thing going on with your legs. The fabric is ripped here and there because it can’t accommodate how much you’ve grown. You’re feeling discomfort in places where the overly tight fit is squeezing your flesh. All of this is somewhat cute but mostly alarming. I wish you would wean yourself of the past and update your approach.
(September 23-October 22): A lot of leopard frogs live on Staten Island, one of New York City’s five boroughs. Most of them make a sound that resembles a long snore or a rapid chuckle. But over the years, biologists have also detected a third type of frogly expression: a clipped, repetitive croak. Just this year, they finally figured out that this belonged to an entirely distinct species of leopard frog that they had never before identified. It’s still so new it doesn’t have a name yet. I expect a metaphorically similar development in your life, Libra. You will become aware of a secret that has been hiding in plain sight. You will “find” something that actually revealed itself to you some time ago.
(October 23-November 21): Tom Tolbert is a sports talk show host on San Francisco radio station KNBR. I am amazingly neutral about him. Nothing he says fascinates me or mirrors my own thoughts. On the other hand, he never makes me mad and he’s not boring. I neither like him nor dislike him. I simply see him for who he is, without any regard for what he can do for me. He has become a symbol of the possibility that I’m able to look at a human being with complete impartiality, having no wish for him to be different from what he is. In the coming week, I suggest you try to achieve this enlightened state of mind on a regular basis. It’s prime time, astrologically speaking, to ripen your mastery of the art of objectivity.