Oh, probably too much.
I stopped taking photos of my altar. I tried to open up, but after thieving, I ceased. Because, when I sit before my altar, my mind instantly opens up. I think that’s the point. Now that it’s so far evolved, I want to keep it private, to protect this Sacred.
I do not think of the altar as something to take pretty insta-gram photos of. While I enjoy the website tumblr ‘Fuck Year Altars,’ my thoughts of late have been leaning a different direction.
I have been trying to cultivate a different mindset through the years, and all the pieces that fit into place have only aided that. My life, my ways, and my practices are my life. But, funny how so few understand what that actually means.
It is not a hobby, or something I ‘put away,’ because of whatever reason. My life is permeated and penetrated by my beliefs, it breathes as I do, it moves as I do, it lives as I do. I intend on teaching my future children this Sacred, through living, and doing. I hope that makes sense.
I sat at my altar last night. Nothing lit, no lights, just the dim lights of the world around me. I saw my skulls- my precious vessels, my witnesses to my rites; I saw my statues that I sculpted in trance, their hollow eyes glistening. I saw my indoor crossroads, my center.
I see a focal point of my Sacred.
My altar is the shrine and work-place, as well as hearth all in one. It is a daily tended area, and I have been striving ever more and harder to have nightly devotionals and it seems the skulls, or statues, wink at me when I do.
The thought of my altar being destroyed devastates me. That’s just the thought of it. A few scant dreams leave me shaken (dreaming of it being dismantled or destroyed), because I understand the Sacred. I really have come to understand what it means to ‘house the Sacred.’ It’s incredible, it’s frightening, I feel their presence as I sleep, and I speak to them as I leave the house in the morning. I feel protected, I feel watched, I feel called, and I feel their un-daunting gaze.
It’s not part of me, it’s not of me: it’s through me. I need the Sacred, as much as it needs me. This Sacred stands strong, even if it’s a sapling in the gale-force winds. It’s roots are strong, and deep regardless. When I look at my altar, I see this.
My Work is not about glamor, or about showmanship. It is what it is, nothing else is required as far as fancy additions. It’s simple, but complex… It is not something you take tranquil photos of, or to simply ‘show off.’ It is precious, it is linked to the very fiber of my being, yet it is independent of me.
So, I sat at my altar. I admired it, I feared it, and I am still devoted to it because of what it is.