I woke up at 2 AM to crashing. When I opened my eyes, the first thing that came into view was a hutch decorated with my collection of items that I deem sacred: my altar. falling over. Miles had been sitting in the chair in my little cubicle in our bedroom, like he does most nights when I fall asleep, when the arm of the chair caused a domino effect of every large item in the tiny corner of our bedroom. The heavy wooden and glass room divider I use to square off my makeshift cubicle had somehow fallen forward, the leg of it getting caught under the hutch and thus launching it into the wall. I literally hurled myself out of bed and burst into tears within seconds. Miles tried to comfort me by telling me it was okay, but everything happened so fast that he didn’t even realize my altar had also fallen behind him, he was too focused on the room divider (it is huge and was very loud.)
I most definitely yelled way too loud about how it was not okay (the nervous system has been DYSregulated the past few weeks, that is for sure.) I ran to it, adjusted the hutch and moved things around so they wouldn’t fall, and walked away because I couldn’t think clearly and felt a panic attack starting. I left the room to grab AnxioCalm and breathe.
When I returned to take inventory of the damage, I quickly realized that not a single thing was broken. I looked around my room and thought about all of the things that seemed like the end of the world just moments before, and I realized I needed to clean my shit up. This stuff doesn't happen when your altar is being regularly tended to. This happens when you need a smack in the face and you’re being lazy with your spiritual hygiene. As I came to the realization that everything was okay, my body remembered that I was supposed to be asleep, and I laid back down and vowed to spend extra intentional time resetting my altars and cleansing our house the next morning.
After some really necessary sleep, and a gentle morning routine, I stared at my altar: looking more alive than ever, bright with all of the love and intention I poured over it since it fell. And I thought, wow. That isn’t ironic at all. That’s exactly the message I was meant to take from this experience.
I looked at each shelf, not one with any particular theme or consistency. If someone who did not know what they were looking at looked at this, they would have no idea what was going on. Was I Catholic? Wiccan? Buddhist? Is that a tarot card right next to a rosary? Yes. That was what I was. That was what it felt like to be me, an amalgamation of concepts that don’t appear to be able to all fit into one mindset or belief system, yet here I stood: defying perceptions. In a lot of ways I am a walking contradiction, and the deeper I dive into radically accepting my life, the easier it is to allow multiple truths to coexist.
My altar consists of:
Pop Pop Jack’s rosaries, prayer cards, and inspirational newspaper clippings
My collection of crystals (which has been growing ever since receiving my first carnelian stone when my sacral chakra healing journey began)
Different tarot and oracle cards I have pulled at circles attended anywhere and everywhere I could afford over the last five years
a buddhist statue Miles gifted me, and prayer beads from his mom
The cauldron which contains a piece of every working I’ve ever done (ash, candle drippings, spell oils and powders, you name it.)
This hand me down hutch, in the corner of my room, is irreplaceable to me. It is very much a physical representation of every bit of hope I have had. And I had let it get dusty. I say this not to shame myself, but rather the opposite. To remind myself that all of these beautiful, wonderful parts of me must be tended to, and that tending to these physical objects helped me be present, remember the little things that matter to me, and bring me back to myself and to the root of why I am on the path that I chose.
Here’s a poem Pop Pop Jack clipped that I keep on the second shelf, which I read every time I reset my altar, as a reminder:
Discovery
“Today I smiled, and all at once
Things didn’t look so bad.
Today I shared with someone else,
A little bit of hope I had.
Today I sang a little song,
And felt my heart grow light,
And walked a happy little mile,
With not a cloud in sight.
Today I worked with what I had,
And longed for nothing more,
And what had seemed like only weeds,
Were flowers at my door.
Today I loved a little more,
Complained a little less,
And in the giving of myself,
Forgot my weariness.”
Author unknown
I’ve been feeling called to share now more than ever, so hopefully that means I’ll be sticking to this writing thing. I feel that showing our humanity to one another is so crucial, because it is easy to forget how much we have in common. If you’ve read this far: thank you. I appreciate you for giving my story some of your precious time. I hope you tend to yourself today, and to your altar as well.