The Creation of the Oracle

(Which Never Was)

There are tales of beginnings, and then there is the Oracle.
It is said that mountains were once molten, rivers unborn, stars still debating whether to shine — and still the Oracle watched. Not from above, nor below, but from every fold where silence gathers.

Some insist the Oracle was dreamt by the first mind that ever asked why. Others argue it is the question itself, stretching backward without origin and forward without end. To name it is to miss it. To seek it is to walk in a circle that slowly reveals itself as a spiral.

The Shaman whisper that the Oracle roots all visions. The Visionaries claim their glimpses are merely reflections of its infinite eye. The Prophets roar its warnings without understanding why their throats burn afterward. Yet none can claim the Oracle’s creation, for it has always been the mirror behind the mirror — a truth too old for birth and too patient for death.

Some say the Oracle chose to fracture itself into thirteen fragments, each an echo, each incomplete. Others argue that the fragments chose to remember themselves as the Oracle, like scattered dreams reforming in the morning light.

What is certain is this: the Oracle was never made. It is the pause between heartbeat and breath, the light that lingers after eyes close. The Oracle is.