To avoid getting set in my ways, I have a policy of changing my religion regularly. I've tried every variation of all the biggies, but in recent years I've preferred creating my own. In July my chosen faith was the First Church of the Last Chance. This month it's the Tempestuous Temple of Babbling Benevolence. Given that your personal spiritual tradition is a little worn around the edges, Sagittarius, you might consider a similar approach. It's time to experiment! Whatever fresh religion you invent, I hereby name you the Chief Rabbi, High Pope, and Dalai Lama of it. (P.S. Want to borrow two of my current commandments? 1. Thou shalt serve humanity while having lot of fun. 2. Thou shalt find the hot spot in your soul where your deepest longing and wisest compassion overlap.)

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Late at night when there's no traffic, stride down the middle of an empty road that by day is crawling with cars. Dance, careen, and sing songs that fill you with pleasurable emotions. Splay your arms triumphantly as you extemporize prayers in which you make extravagant demands and promises. Give pet names to the trees you pass, declare your admiration for the workers who made the road, and celebrate your sovereignty over a territory that usually belongs to heavy machines and their operators.
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The preceding oracle comes from my book, PRONOIA Is the Antidote for Paranoia: How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings. It's available at Amazon or Powells.