The artist Amedeo Modigliani lived in Paris from 1906 until his death in 1920. For most of that time, he was destitute. Proprietors of local stores and restaurants sometimes accepted his art work as payment in lieu of actual money. They didn't necessarily appreciate it, though. One food seller used Modigliani's drawings as wraps for the fried potatoes he sold. Another stashed the artist's paintings in his cellar, where they turned into feasts for rodents. Too bad for these short-sighted people and their heirs: The worth of Modigliani's works eventually increased, and some sold for millions of dollars. In the weeks ahead, Leo, don't be like those food sellers. Know the value of what you have, even if it's still latent.

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No one knows you better than you do, but maybe I can help you dig up even more self-knowledge. Listen to your EXPANDED AUDIO HOROSCOPE.

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SACRED ADVERTISEMENT. The oracle below is excerpted from my book PRONOIA Is the Antidote for Paranoia: How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings.
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"The reality of love is mutilated when it is removed from all its unreality." So said the French philosopher Gaston Bachelard in his book The Poetics of Reverie.

He meant that realism alone is not enough for human beings to live on, especially in our most intimate relationships. We need fantasy to augment the merely factual perspective. We require poetic truths to keep the rational approach honest.

Without the play of the imagination, in fact, our understanding of the world is impoverished and ­distorted.

(P.S. Nietzsche said: "We have art in order not to perish of truth.")