The Oracle’s Musings
Stream of consciousness
photography and writings
by Jean-François Gervais
Day and night, all around, a veil, a bond. Seek the sight that opens beyond.
Questing in the night, awake in the dream, the mystery has might, is the real what it seems?
A midsummer evening’s rêverie: “Fading fears, vanishing vanities, I stand openly without a sentry, as a heartbeat nears, pulsing tenderly.”
Quiet not the passions—Unanswered, they rage, neglected, they cage, until your own flesh is ashen.
What do we sow that keeps turning one another into fumes? Wouldn’t we rather meet singing our mutual bloom?
Moon reflecting Sun. Earth touching Sky. Heart seeking One. Human asking Why.
He shows the way to those asking. The good teacher is not professing. He answers in the dark, voices after their own spark, lighting the footsteps that lead out of the depths, until the seeker is ready to depart — venturing beyond into unknown parts.
Who is the sentry guarding the mystery of thy beingness? What is it protecting from wider awareness?
Swimming gently upstream into the remembrance, I catch a glimpse beyond the dream that what I am is Essence.
L’instant s’est ouvert, il m’a avalé; Demain et hier se sont dispersés; Le temps d’une prière, me voilà contenté…
The real and the unreal everywhere intertwine, for amidst deception the sincere also arises. And when of truth there is no sight, remember that always it emerges beckoned by time.
Reason thinks it owns reality. Yet how that order sinks under scrutiny. Open up to thy watery knowing, it allows true clarity.
What is the truth of my being? Am I atomic happenstance or a creator king? A random dance or a god singing? And is the one daring the inquiry gazing into immortality?
Everywhere one may see, control attempted desperately, but every edifice of authority meets its end inevitably.
The vision pierces through. Commit and witness the new!
Where there is little silence, much is missed. Of your own words make an absence, it allows a bliss.
In the gentle yearning of the morning, the invisible comes…
The birthed sun brings forth a light, sustaining everyone and ending the night.
Is there even an instant, in which one may find, the synchronous to be asleep? Or is it us that travel the moments, binding our minds, to what lays above the deep?
Thy mind and speech, gather and wield!
Coursing within thy veins, is a blood thy kins would declare strange. But from such claims, allow no stain upon urges that bear thy true name.
Wielding the potency of the apogee — Arise anew, again, and be.
In the swirling vastness, where all is limitless, my eyes they open and my heart it glows. Every desire deserves a birth, I know!
Another breath, another opportunity for magic.
What is it that allows or prevents, beckoning us onward or requiring that we mend? I look at my hand and wonder, if the threads that it holds I can somehow befriend.
The waters have murmured and the seas are howling, higher they rise yet who is reckoning while blinded or frightened and warnings scorned as lies…
The sword of consciousness pierces through material density. To the gods of matter it kneels not obediently!
Life’s pleasures each day abound, every moment has a secret asking to be found. And while humans play in the garden of Earth, a magic is busy everywhere giving birth.
At the broken hour, leave for higher ground. In the trial by fire, your true self will be found.
In leaving the known behind, in creating oneself anew, the way may be hard to find, and the familiar forever lures you, but in the absence of clarity, in the absence of knowing how, it is not necessary to know the whole story — it is enough to trust self in the now.
Grab my heart and kiss me, let’s never part from this sweet folly.
She knows of human fears, that by day or night always appear. Listen to her counsel, for she guides through the confusing and the frightful.
The missing is deeply felt. Despite risk, leaving is tempting. What has been, has seeped. What could be, is calling.
Yesterday I had a visit from a fire friend. His energy is all flames and can’t be contained. It sparks and spews in so many hues — don’t you dare temper his game!
Often these days “The Hermit” appears as imagery of Winter’s inward gaze. And now proceeding into the season’s mysterious depth, the inner jewels that are found gently amaze.
More of yourself than is known, sparks into being all encounters. From where your own shifting wind has blown, you would do well to remember.
When belief in self is lacking, and from the cliff you are hanging, summon that trust from within, there it lies eager to be emerging.
Rise from the fray; Into radiance have your whole being sway!
The morning frost greets our waking bodies with calm beauty. Beneath the busy-ness nature reigns quietly.
Such is our nature that perfection is but illusion. Never truly do we stop changing, always are we becoming.
The paths are many, choices aplenty. Remain open and wonders are sure to blossom. And even when we shut down, opportunity again comes around.
Take a torch and alone venture into the shadows. There you will find blossoms of which nobody knows.