oraculum for the new year, 2013.
1. a divine announcement
2. a prophetic declaration
3. an imperial rescript
January first, two thousand thirteen. I present to you my oraculum. Held in glass and kept on the bookcase in my bedroom, I can greet my intentions each morning, and thank the little oracles echoed in my day before sleep.
I’ve spent many December 31sts scribbling my resolution list in notebooks, planners, or odd slips of paper. I’d remember them for three-ish weeks, until they lost themselves; buried behind pages, underneath the stacks of the everyday.
My intentions, though admirable (learn origami! read the tarot! become a yogini! write a book!) waned to shadows on the edge of my periphery. I frustrated myself.
Why wasn’t I capable of achieving good, honest goals? Why didn’t these things matter to me a month into this whole new year thing?
It took me a good two or three glasses of wine before I realized I was speaking the wrong language twice.
Goals and achievements are the language of metrics: measurements, quantitative assessments, production parameters. I don’t even use measuring spoons when I’m in the kitchen. It’s a pinch here, a dollop there, a feeling for when it’s right or ready.
A feeling. Yes. A state of being. That’s what I’m seeking in this new year. A gorgeous, resonant handful of those, please.
Instead of asking myself what I wanted to achieve, I asked what I wanted to feel, and how I wanted to move through this year. It began as a hand-scrawled entry in the journal.
Then I read The Alchemist.
The fable lit my way. To communicate with the world, I must learn to speak the language of the world. Omen. Metaphor. The layer cake meaning of all things.
I needed a divine declaration, spoken not with words on paper, but with symbol.
I spent my afternoon collecting the curios which spoke to my new year, and placed them inside a glass jar so I could easily view my little terrarium of oracles.
I’m ready for you, 2013. Let’s dance.