This is for Heather, who said, “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”.
A glimpse from far away, of my private altar. It’s too personal for an up close shot. But I can show you tiny snippets.
West. Water. Ancestral. The laughing song of the Loon, carrying voices across thresholds.
East. Fragile dawn. Meadowlark feathers, singing in flight, in rebirth, from the land of Ishi. First birdsong I learnt by ear.
North. Earth. Striding. The owl’s burrow. A place of past and present, a place of rest and repose. Dreaming.
Which brings us to the seasonal…I put up our Dia de los Muertos altar yesterday. 13th year.
Oh hai, you didn’t know that we have a giant Venus of Willendorf in our hallway, did you?’
Just on the other side. Those who have crossed over.
My dear colleague, Tamara, recently gifted me with her artwork that I had been admiring. Thank you sweet friend.
While I reconcile the past with the present, the corporeal shadow is comforting. Meanwhile, the light of who he is now dances everywhere.
You are not
a troubled guest
on this earth,
you are not
amidst other accidents
you were invited
from another and greater
than the one
you have just emerged.
I set up the Day of the Dead altar early every year, to give it time to evolve, to leave room for requests from wandering souls. It is good, so good, to take time at least once a year to feed the gleeful dead. We will offer favorite foods, the fragrance of wine and flowers, but most importantly, we will offer our breath…that one simple, taken for granted activity, that we share with all things living…and that the ancestors remember with fond nostalgia.
This is the bright home
in which I live,
this is where
this is where I want
to love all the things
it has taken me so long
to learn to love.