If there’s one thing I believe in, it’s that there’s life after death. Or, wait. No. Start again. If there’s one thing I believe in, it’s: Life after life. Yes. If there’s one thing I believe in it’s life after life after life after life. And if there’s ever a time to believe in life continuing, it’s summer. Summer, when everything is dying. Summer, when everything has never been more alive. Now, in summer, we have come to an ending wrapped up in a beginning wrapped up in the heat and the cold and the day and the night. And a ribbon. Let’s not forget that something is tying it all together.
Jun 22–Jul 22
Have you ever thought, even for just one hot minute, of not scuttling sideways through life, Cancer? Of just stopping for a little bit, standing still and allowing the ground to begin burning under your feet until you just can’t take it anymore, until you think you’re going to split open from the fire under you, the fire inside you? And then moving again, with maximum deliberation and determination, forward, toward the water, where you can be free? Oh, you haven’t? Well, you might want to. It’s about time.
July 23–Aug 22
Every time I try to picture you, Leo, something gets cut out. It’s like I have a photo of you that I took full-frame, but now I’m trying to put you on Instagram, and all of you just won’t fit. But I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be. There’s something in your life that needs to be edited out. And you could use a new filter while you’re at it. I’m pretty partial to Ludwig right now. Try it sometime.
Aug 23–Sep 22
When you look at a rose, do you see the bloom or do you see the thorns? I guess it doesn’t matter, because you shouldn’t just be looking at it. You need to pluck it, crush it in your hand, bring it up to your face, inhale its fragrance, bury yourself in the soft petals and the sharp spikes till you’re bleeding, till you’re feeling it all. That’s what you need to do, Virgo. Just you. Me? I prefer irises, but we all have different journeys.
Sep 23–Oct 22
You skip between worlds, Libra, with the ease, the grace, of a songbird sailing on the wind. But here’s a thing I’ve noticed about you lately: The time you spend in between worlds is getting longer. I find myself getting afraid you will be lost. Come down! Come down! I shout into the air. I know you hear me. Come down! Or maybe, if you want, I’ll come up. Or someone else will. Someone good.
Oct 23–Nov 21
I saw you, Scorpio, when you thought no one was looking. I saw you take out the guitar and play your dead brother’s favorite songs, and I saw you sing in a voice I knew was soft and true. I saw you, but I couldn’t hear you, because you’d sent me a video that had no sound. Turn the sound up, Scorpio. I want to hear you. We all do.
Nov 22–Dec 21
In Nabokov’s Pale Fire John Shade writes “No free man needs a God; but was I free?” I mean, no. No, John Shade was not free. He was a tool of the most masterful Russian-expat puppeteer-lepidopterist of all time. He was not free at all. But you are, Sagittarius; you’re free to do whatever you want, gods be damned. Might I suggest a trip to some tropical beach somewhere? Drink a strawberry margarita for me. Make that two.
Dec 22–Jan 19
It’s not your time of year, is it, Capricorn? You were born during a time of dark days and even darker nights. Your inclination is to hole up somewhere warm and wrap yourself up in furs and oh I don’t even know what else. Go back in your hole if you must, but know that it’s a sin to waste the sun.
Jan 20–Feb 18
Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? We all ask this question sometimes, but lately, Aquarius, I’ve heard your voice more clearly than those of others. And I understand the impulse; I swear I do. But the thing is, you’ve got to ask the right people—most haven’t got a clue. And you’re a tricky one Aquarius; you’re made of water and light, the waves and the air. You’re hard to capture, but in the best possible way.
Feb 19–Mar 20
“I’m sick of water,” I heard you say. “But the problem is I’m always thirsty.” And so I tell you: “I want to give you something to drink, but all I have is water.” I watched you dip your head and take it in, cup the water in your hands, and bring it to your mouth over and over. “Are you still thirsty?” I ask. You shake your head no. Pisces, you will never be thirsty again.
Mar 21–Apr 19
What a funny thing fire is, the way it lives in your hair and your eyes and your breath and your skin. Just yours, Aries. The fire in you is strong, stronger than ever right now. Don’t confuse that heat with something external. It’s all coming from inside you. Best thing to do would be to let it come out.
Apr 20–May 20
What I like about you, Taurus, is everything. At least right now, at least at this very moment. Why? Because right now you are happy and right now you are distilled to the purest essence of yourself; you are a cloud, an opalescent cloud that looks like nothing other than an opalescent cloud. The sad part is that you have as much control over this beautiful time as a cloud does over the form that it takes. But here’s the thing: Maybe it’s not actually sad, because even if a cloud gets torn asunder, it’s still a cloud. Even if your happiness fades, you are still you. Remember that.
May 21–Jun 21
“I am so pale!” she cried. “I’m so light!” He said to her, “You are not just light! You are the light.” Long story short: She is a Gemini. And so are you. And, Gem, if you don’t have someone in your life who makes you feel that way? Fix that. Fast.