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Like many, I suppose, my first experience with divination was the Tarot, probably a decade ago by now. I learned from it that particular oracles don't work for everyone—even now, I struggle to get almost anything from it, but I've had readings done for me which have shocked me with the detail that could be pulled from even a single card.

I met Geomancy back in 2019 by stumbling across Greer's books on the subject (which have issues but are the best available on the topic). It took maybe six months to get acceptable at it, and I still cast a chart every day, month, and year, since no other oracle does so well at giving me a bird's eye view of a situation. Its main downside is that it is so abstract and impersonal, which makes it difficult to pull out a course of action from it. I used to use it for specific inquiries, too, but it has lately been supplanted at these by other oracles.

I have been playing with the I Ching seriously for about eight months. True to its name, I have found it to really excel for trying to understand how a situation will evolve, and consequently for what strategy to adopt: not so much "should I do X?" but more "given X, what should I expect?" The main difficulty I've had with it is the culture barrier: the I Ching is deeply concerned with material well-being and the correct ordering of society, and, erm, neither of those are of much interest to an ascetic hermit like me.

But around the same time as I picked up the I Ching, I came across a couple ancient Greek oracles. Both are described in John Opsopaus's The Oracles of Homer and the Bones (which is how I discovered them), though—you know me!—I've dug up and use the original source material for both as best I can.

The first of these is the Astragalomanteion ("Knucklebone Oracle"), which we've found inscribed on a number of columns dug up in various places in Asia Minor. The idea is that you roll five knucklebones (which act as four-sided dice), and look up an answer related to some divinity from the column. I have found this to be quick, simple, and excellent for questions of the "should I do X?" variety. Curiously, when I ask a question, the responding divinity is always related to the question at hand (e.g. a question about my house might be answered by Zeus Ktesios, "protector of the household"), and when the divinity is unexpected, this gives interesting nuance into unseen factors affecting what I want to do.

The second of these is the Homeromanteion ("Homer Oracle"), which we've dug up in a few ancient books of magic (there is a copy, for example, in the famous Greek Magical Papyri). The idea is that you roll three dice (of the normal, six-sided variety) and get as an answer a line from the Iliad or Odyssey. I would have thought that the context in the story matters, but at least for me, the text of the line itself has been paramount and what the line refers to in the story doesn't matter so much. It gives the feel of a line spoken directly from the divinity to answer your question; in that sense, it is like a Magic 8-Ball that is actually useful. It's a versatile oracle which can be used for many kinds of questions, but I find myself reaching for it when I don't really know exactly what I'm looking for; "what should I know about X?" is, I suppose, as good a way to put it as any.

All of these systems have their quirks, and, odd as they are, I have learned that "when in Rome, do as the Romans:" those quirks are there for a reason. In Geomancy, for example, one should never conduct a reading during a thunderstorm, since if you do, the answer won't be accurate. The Homeromanteion requires observance of lucky/unlucky days and the use of a specific prayer to Lukian Apollon before casting it, which is drawn (creatively) from the Iliad and Odyssey. I wanted to understand it better, so I spent way too long translating it for myself:

κλῦθι ἄναξ ὅς που Λυκίης ἐν πίονι δήμῳ
εἲς ἢ ἐνὶ Τροίῃ: δύνασαι δὲ σὺ πάντοσ' ἀκούειν
ἀνέρι κηδομένῳ, ὡς νῦν ἐμὲ κῆδος ἱκάνει·
καί μοι τοῦτ' ἀγόρευσον ἐτήτυμον, ὄφρ' ἐὺ εἰδῶ,
ὅττι μάλιστ' ἐθέλω καί μοι φίλον ἔπλετο θυμῷ.

Hear me, Lord, whether you are in the rich land of Lukia
or here in Troia, for you are able to listen in all directions
to a man in distress, as I am now:
tell me truly, so I may know well,
whatever I want most which has endeared itself to my heart.

The first three lines are from the Iliad XVI 514–6: Patroklos kills Sarpedon, captain of the Lukians; Sarpedon's injured lieutenant Glaukos prays to Apollon for healing and strength so that he might defend his captain's corpse. The fourth line is from the Odyssey I 174: Athenaie comes to the house of Odusseus in disguise; Odusseus's son, Telemakhos, asks the stranger who they are and why they have come. The last line is from the Odyssey XVIII 113, except that the sentence has been modified from the second-person ("you"/"your") to first-person ("I"/"my"): Odusseus returns home in disguise; the suitors welcome him with grand, empty words.

It is reasonable for the prayer to say "here in Troia," since the Neoplatonists, beloved of Apollon, considered Troia to be the material world (e.g. it is as far from home as Odusseus, the soul, could ever get).