ARIES (March 21-April 19): A few years ago, a group of artists built a giant bunny out of pink wool on an Italian mountainside. The 200-foot-long effigy will remain there until 2025. There's a disturbing aspect to this seemingly goofy artifact, however: It has a wound in its side where its guts are spilling out. That's why I don't recommend that you travel there and commune with it. According to my reading of the astrological omens, you would definitely benefit from crawling into a fetal position and sucking your thumb while lying in the comfy embrace of a humongous mommy substitute. But you shouldn't tolerate any tricks or jokes that might limit your ability to sink into total peace and relaxation.
TAURUS (April 20-May 20): In 1998, I spent three weeks reading The Psychoanalysis of Fire and The Poetics of Reverie, two books by French philosopher Gaston Bachelard. His teachings were so evocative that I filled up two 120-page journals with my notes. To this day, I still refer to them, continuing to draw fresh inspiration from ideas I wasn't ripe enough to fully understand when I first encountered them. You're entering a phase of your astrological cycle when a similar event could happen for you, Taurus: a supercharged educational opportunity that will fuel you for a long time.
GEMINI (May 21-June 20): Congrats, Gemini! You have not only weathered your recent phase of relentless novelty; you've thrived on the adjustments it demanded of you. I am hereby awarding you with the rare and prestigious title of Change-Lover, which I only bestow upon one of the signs of the zodiac every four years or so. So what's next on the schedule? The shock of the new will soon subside, giving you a chance to more fully integrate the fresh approaches you've been adopting. I suggest you relax your hyper-vigilance and slip into a slower, smoother, more reflective groove.
CANCER (June 21-July 22): Here are the low-paying jobs I've done that I wasn't very good at: tapping sap from maple trees in Vermont; driving a taxi in North Carolina; toiling as an amusement park ride operator in New Jersey; being a guinea pig for medical experiments in California; digging ditches in South Carolina; and picking olives from trees in the south of France. Do I feel like a failure for being such a mediocre worker and making so little money? No, because although it took me a while, I finally found jobs I was good at, and have been thriving ever since. Why would I judge myself harshly for having trouble doing things that weren't in sync with my soul's code? Please apply this line of thinking to yourself.