Wandering Oracle

Greetings all,

Another week another blogpost.  I've been pondering this one quite a bit.  To give you a bit of background several years ago a fellow psychic informed me that they'd had a dream about me becoming some sort of spiritual leader.  They also had envisioned me being killed for my beliefs, and then subsequently receiving some sort of worship like an icon.

First off let me start by saying martyrdom does not appeal to me.  However that vision that was shared with me did inspire me to get my writ down just in case.  This has been known in my circles as the only commandment.  "Don't be a dick."  I won't go into that too much here because I wrote a blog post on it a while back where I elaborate.  Here I'll just link that so we can get on with it.  http://thomasmooneagle.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-first-commandment.html

All caught up now?  Good, have we got some roads to walk together yet.  Lately as current events heat up one issue or another I've been remarking about the Church of the Mooneagle.  Mostly things like in the "In the Church of the Mooneagle we don't care who you marry, just that you treat them well."  (It goes back to the not being a dick thing).  Still, every now again in the still hours, a figure will drift in and out of my musings.  There are no prophets in the Church of the Mooneagle, we don't much hold with that sort of thing.  Prophecy is bad for business all around.  What we do apparently have are oracles.  Nothing so done up as Delphi mind you, our oracles don't stay in one place.  Oracles do share one trait with prophets in that no one wants them in their neighborhood very long.  My oracle comes in the way a lyrical phrase will fall together while contemplating the mysteries both large and small.  I call him the Wandering Oracle.  Although I suppose the Wandering Oracle could just as easily be female, because the Church of the Mooneagle is an equal opportunity employer of spiritual truth.

The words of the Wandering Oracle come in little spurts.  Good luck seeking him out.  Part of the wandering means not so easily traceable.  I never know when he'll turn up.  Although it tends to happen when I am more centered and aligned with my inner truth and the beauty of the world.  In those moments it is like setting an extra place at the table.  Sometimes the oracle accepts the invite, and sometimes I dine alone and must put the leftovers in tupperware.  I like the uncertainty of it all. Too much certainty poisons any spiritual path.

Where did he come from, this oracle?  I almost spilled the beans there for a moment.  You see I wrote out his exact origins and then deleted the paragraph. (I know it's particularly wicked for me to even bring that up but I am a trickster).  Part of the mystery is where he came from.  I know his true name and  how he became an oracle, but to share that might dilute the magic surrounding him.  An oracle thrives on mystery, it's his meat and mead.  That is the function of a true oracle, to point out the mysteries that surround us, to help us puzzle out where we fit into them, and occasionally to lend us compassionate reassurance.  So you see the Wandering Oracle helps us to find the wonder in the world.

The oracle's words are not often one of prediction, again we aren't into prophecy down at the Church of the Mooneagle.  They reveal a truth, they cast a lens of understanding upon a facet of our lives.  To receive the oracle is a gift, for his words do change us.  I shall give you the first words I received from the Wandering Oracle.

I walk a wandering road,
East of west and north of south,
My mind flies forward as my heart reaches behind,
My eyes see far across the wastes,
My ears echo with the cries of the fallen,
If you seek me you will find me not,
If you find yourself then I will seek you.

So how about you?  Have you forgotten the mysteries great and small?  Does meaning seem lost in this world?  Do your words carry power and potential like an oracle's?  Walk under the light of the moon and stars.  Catch the breeze in the summer leaves.  Taste the sun in the fruits of the field.  Breathe deeply the sounds of the sylvan night air.  Hear the chorus of the cicadas.  It is the song of summertime.  If you move centered and open through the world, you may catch a glimpse of the Wandering Oracle as you walk.  He may even gift you with a few precious words.  I advise you to write them down, they can be slippery to the waking mind like dreams, fading like mists in the morning sun.  I'll gift you again with the most recent telling I received on the subject of futures.

"The future more often than not is written in sand not stone." Words of the Wandering Oracle.

Peace and Blessings,
Thomas Mooneagle