Oh me, oh my, oracle! by Boris Belay

Oh me, oh my, oracle !

In the beginning is silence.  Then comes a squeal, a squeak, a scream, or maybe a screech.  A breath, it could have been a breath, a laugh, a leaf, a lewd, a loud word… or just a sound heard — and repeated  Whatever : a weal, a would, a will…  Then it has started, it has begun.

Silence, and again.  Again, or other : variants, variations, varigated soundings, and their echo.  Repeat, or not, go on, hold the position, find the position, until the faraway limb answers.  Now it has started.

The rules are there, the rules are set, the rules are loose and the oracle is loosened, here but never close.  It comes and goes, it riffs on that, whatever that, who, what, which, whatever will have started it.

The oracle ? Oracling, more like it.  For it, it is it : the rules, the game, the play, the serious not-so-serious play by the rules, or don’t.  But go on, the oracle speaks — you.  It’s your turn, take it for a spin or let yourself be led by the tongue, the throat, the lungs and lower too.

Possession ? No.  Guidance, maybe.  Detour, for sure.  It comes and goes and I follow, high and low, solo.  Figuring, trembling, holding, the faraway so near, the finger, the elbow, the knee, the toe, it draws, it calls back, I hear, I speak, or at least I voice.

Strictures is the word : it is easier for a camel to go through the gate than…  Up is the way to the oracle, and only those who will, will.  Strictures is the key, yes, but it opens onto nothing, onto none else than itself, the play, the plain, high and dry, through the gate and to the top.

Follow the rules, hold it, keep on.  Now the place is elsewhere.  Abide, keep abiding, your tongue and toe, your throat and knee, your lung and finger, or lower, whatever began with you.  A bid, it was a bid — hold it strictly or loosened, hang on to it and it will take you there : oracle of itself.

N-O-Where else ?  In the plain of silence, she goes.  Ashen and glorious, horned and flowery, the place is wide, open, immense, she walks, she crosses, transversal, festive vestal.  Oracle of itself and the other, stretched between the two, alone and gathering, receiving, breathing, dreaming.

The place is set, a pallace, the rules are heeded, now, the voicing will begin — bip, bip, bip, time to stop !