Perhaps as part and parcel of the ego I bear, I rarely look at horoscopes. I think I don't believe they can capture all that needs to be said, or explained, or forecast.
Every once in a while, one catches my eye. Or, maybe it's just a wire that trips my ego - but there it is. A finger pointing right at me - flaming shrubbery, as it were.
There are two that I've carried around with me, in my old wallet. I rarely read them, but I knew they were there.
Steve found the most darling new wallet for me in the neighbourhood (after I drew a picture of it on the back of a business card and stapled it to my letter to Santa). Tonight I'm transferring the contents of my old one that barfs change and loses cards in the lining (whomever gets it next from the thrift store should know this, because one of the questions I ask myself when I buy things at thrift stores is "Why is this here?"), unclutterering as I go. The two horoscopes are so tattered that I may just wave them over the top of the new wallet, letting some shreds and dust fall in so that the essence is there. But I'm committing them here, because I love them every time I see them.
The first, originally published August 11, 1999, by Rob Brezsny, probably in NOW magazine, because NOW is free and I used to read it when I used to do more things that didn't involve sitting on the floor and making plastic things move and talk:
Leo (July 23-Aug. 22): I have a taboo against advising you to be like me. You and I are so different, after all. How could the tricks that work for me be right for you? But now an exception has arisen. Chalk it up to the warp factor of the approaching millennium. And so I say unto you: Be like me. Be sensitive and vulnerable but irreverent and insatiable. Believe in freaking miracles but maintain your sardonic skepticism. Be extra good to the creatures who sustain you, but be alert for rebellious inspirations arriving from left field. Don't take anything too seriously but treat the whole world as a sublime gift. Make sure that love is your highest law.
The other, from March 24, 1999, from the same source:
Leo (July 23-Aug. 22): Is this the time Nostradamus was referring to when he wrote, "The Lion shall rip the dead lilies off the altar, fix the broken toys, spank the devil with a ping pong paddle, and retrieve the half-eaten cake of love from the back of the freezer"? After studying the cosmic configurations, I've concluded it is. I believe the prophet's vision describes your accomplishments in the early spring of 1999. It's true that in our mediapocalyptic age, there are no heroes, only celebrities. But you're the closest thing to a hero I've seen in a long time. Your heart is 90 percent free of toxic vibes, and your wise-guy morality rivals that of my sister when, as a teenager, she squirt-gunned grape Kool-Aid in the face of her abusive gym teacher.
I read these, and I think, wow - I need to think of myself in that way more often. Instead of "You are bulgy and tired and on the edge of snapping ten times a day. Your daughter doesn't see the awesomeness as much as she could if you'd only breathe a little, and your husband misses parts of you that read like erased pencil lines. Buck up - it's not that hard. You can do it." And maybe I CAN be in People one day - if the magazine ever mees Rob Brezsny's demand #4:
"I demand that People magazine do a feature story on "The World's Fifty Sexiest Perpetrators of Beauty, Truth, and Rowdy Bliss."
Since horoscopes are fantastic oracles, but don't come with iron-clad guarantees - can I just wish everyone a Happy New Year, one that's filled with beauty, truth and rowdy bliss? And if you see me, remind me to look in my wallet more often. There isn't much money in there, but there are great treasures in store.