The Oracle Speaks
By John Herlihy

The oracle speaks across the ages as I listen and hear;
She speaks her wisdom, but her response I do not fear.
The wind rustles the pines along the corridors of time,
Living breath seems to be everywhere, especially mine.
The oracle continues to utter wisdom to expectant ears,
Down through tumultuous ages and across endless years.

I stand before her in the full bloom of my unfolding fate;
The silence filling the void as I her proclamations await.
I had imagined a hooded witch swaddled in ancient attire,
Fingertips tapping lightly as she seeks petitioners to inspire.
I sit crossed-legged with my guide in the enveloping shadow;
Heaven above can offer what we on earth lack here below.

I have wandered across borders far distant from my home;
The years have passed with the insistence of a metronome.
What have I done with my life to feel remorse when it is over;
I only wish to lay down with no regrets under four-leaf clover.
The occasion has arisen and I find myself in this alien culture,
Hoping to discover a secret knowledge like a hungry vulture.

Long black tunic wrapped and tied with a red plaid belt,
Slightly bent forward but with a face your heart to melt.
Her toothless grin seemed to recklessly jump off the page,
Defying the embedded lines in the parchment of her age.
The oracle had a child’s face marked by a thousand years,
Reflected in its innocence as sorrow is reflected in tears.

The rustic hovel smelled of earth, incense and overripe fruit;
Images of the Buddha adorned the walls, powerfully mute.
Locals and foreigners gathered expectantly, eyes open bright;
Everyone will seek from the oracle a touch of her harsh light.
The silence was interrupted now with the murmur of chanting;
The oracle swayed her head and breathed heavily as if panting.

A middle-aged tourist, a sad mother, rose with her question,
Awaiting with reverence the tenor of the oracle’s suggestion.
She asked in sorrow of her son, killed in an accident a year ago,
The oracle’s eyes seemed to be cast in the aura of mystic glow.
“There is a time for tears,” she intoned, “and a time for sorrow.
Reach out to help others, it will change the nature of tomorrow.
Your son will know and appreciate whatever good you may impart.
In addition, your good works will help to heal your broken heart.”

I finally found the courage to rise myself up from the dirt floor,
Shook myself like a wild animal, wondering what was now in store.
I am not much given to verbally expressing my innermost thoughts;
Still, this was a rare occasion and I wanted for once to close the dots.
My guide and I knelt down before the ancient presence, all fear aside;
I quietly whispered my inquiry for the oracle into the ear of my guide.

I detected a faint smile along the thin line of the oracle’s lips
Tibetan words flowed, her wrinkled hands touched her fingertips.
“What should I do in my life that I am not doing?” the words implied.
Are there seasonings to help flavor my life’s brewing,” the words sighed.
“Seek within, reach out, season your life with noble flavor,” she uttered
Your destiny and destination will draw down divine favor,” she muttered.

The oracle’s advice burned ephemeral with an iridescence nobody named
Flames of a wood fire flicked and within the rustic hovel silence reigned.