My dear Cancerian, your soul is so rich and complicated, so many-splendored and mysterious, so fertile and generous. I'm amazed you can hold all the poignant marvels you contain. Isn't it sometimes a struggle for you to avoid spilling over? Like a river at high tide during heavy rains? And yet every so often there come moments when you go blank; when your dense, luxuriant wonders go missing. That's OK! It's all part of the Great Mystery. You need these fallow phases. And I suspect that the present time might be such a time. If so, here's a fragment of a poem by Cecilia Woloch to temporarily use as your motto: "I have nothing to offer you now save my own wild emptiness.”

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