FREE WILL ASTROLOGY Week of November 8th 

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SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): On a beach, a man spied a pelican that was barely moving. Was it sick? He wanted to help. Drawing close, he discovered that ants were crawling all over it. He brushed them off, then carried the bird to his car and drove it to a veterinarian. After a thorough examination, the doctor realized the pelican was suffering from a fungus that the ants had been eating away — and probably would have removed completely if the man hadn't interfered. Moral of the story: Sometimes healing takes place in unexpected ways, and nature knows better than we do about how to make it happen. Keep that in mind during the coming weeks, Sagittarius.

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): A farmer in Japan found a 56-leaf clover. Well, actually, he bred it in his garden at home. It took effort on his part. Presumably, it provided him with 14 times the luck of a mere four-leaf clover. I don't think your good karma will be quite that extravagant in the coming week, Capricorn, but there's a decent chance you'll get into at least the 16-leaf realm. To raise your odds of approaching the 56-leaf level of favorable fortune, remember this: Luck tends to flow in the direction of those who work hard to prepare for it and earn it.

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): The largest bell in the world is located in Moscow, Russia. Called the Tsar Bell, it's made of bronze, weighs 445,170 pounds, and is elaborately decorated with images of people, angels, and plants. It has never once been rung in its 275 years of existence. Is there anything comparable in your own life, Aquarius? Some huge presence that has never actually been used? The time is near when that stillness may finally come to an end. I suggest you decide how this will occur rather than allowing fate to choose for you.

PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): Are you interested in experiencing a close brush with a holy anomaly or a rowdy blessing or a divine wild card? If not, that's perfectly OK. Just say, "No, I'm not ready for a lyrical flurry of uncanny grace." And the freaky splendor or convulsive beauty or mystical mutation will avoid making contact with you, no questions asked. But if you suspect you might enjoy communing with a subversive blast of illumination — if you think you could have fun coming to terms with a tricky epiphany that blows your mind — then go out under the night sky and whisper a message like this: "I'm ready for you, sweetness. Find me."

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