You certainly don’t have to make an altar if you don’t want to, don’t feel called to, or don’t feel safe enough to do so! It’s not required to be a “”proper”” pagan at all, I promise you!
One thing that I did, back when I had just started out as a pagan, was made what I called “godboxes”. I bought some empty cigar boxes from the cigar shop near my house–I paid a dollar each, but some places literally just give them away–removed any labels or stickers, and painted the insides of them. One of them, I glued a printed-out image of the god (Anubis) on the inside and decorated with a bit of gold paint, but the one I have for Odin is just painted.
Inside of the godboxes, I store things that were relevant or “belonged” to the god it was for. So my Odin godbox has the origami ravens and wolves I folded last week, a necklace made with a wolf claw, and the journal I used back when I was trying to figure out who the Black Rabbit entity was, because it turned out to be Odin. Once I make a set of prayer beads for Him, they’ll be stored in there as well. My ansuz necklace would go in there, but I wear it so often that I just keep it on top of the closed box.
I’ve used the godbox as an altar of sorts, both open and closed. (Usually closed, and I’ll set my candles on top of it or something.) But it’s nice for me to have something discreet and contained that just… feels like my god. Something I can look at which is totally mundane on the outside, but which I know is full of Odinstuff.
If you feel that you would like to have some space that is easily hidden but still can be opened up and used for your devotion, maybe something like a godbox would be good! You can use the cigar box idea, or go to a craft store and pick up a wooden box, or, hell, just use a shoebox or something. It’s all about what feels right to you and your gods.
If you want more suggestions on super-discreet altars, I could probably work out a couple. I spent a lot of time thinking about this stuff when I was just starting out. But ultimately, if you don’t feel that an altar is something your practice needs or that your gods want, you’re not at all required to have one!
So I had a thought while watching The Craft earlier today…
The shop owner, Lirio, is one of my favorite characters. She’s what I’d love to find in a shop owner and I realized something: I’ve never found a shop that I truly like. My anxiety acts up and I feel judged and like my every move is being scrutinized. Now, reasonably I know that I’m being watched to make certain I’m not stealing, but anxiety says different because it’s a bitch.
I’d love to find a shop that makes me feel comfortable and like I’m free to ask questions and discuss the things I love. Honestly, I come to the conclusion that I wish someone I knew and felt comfortable with had a shop. How likely is that to happen? Not very.
I’m not really sure where I wanted to go with this, but there it is. Thoughts? Comments? Experiences? Feel free to respond.
With all that’s going on in America right now there’s a lot of talk about learning to see love and not color. Now, I get where that’s coming from, where your heart is, but no, don’t do this. Don’t erase someone else’s nationality, their culture, to “understand” them. Our differences are what make us beautiful. They help define who we are and that’s not a bad thing. You need to see race, gender, sexuality, and religion because that is what teaches you about who people are, where they come from, the traditions that they practice and love. You need to see it and embrace it. Embrace our differences, not just tolerate them. So yes, see color, see everything and love it and respect it.
Differences are what make the world beautiful and interesting. Never try to blind yourself to the things that make people who they truly are! 💜
Yes please, dear @tarotprose. We start our vacation in exactly a week and I really need to feel better by then. What a bummer it would be to be on vacation and sick. 😣
I’m doing all the mundane things as well, like doubling up on vitamin c and other supplements as well as trying to rest as much as possible. Steam and warm bath cloths, thus far, have been my best friend. 😩
💜💜💜
Im going to be real honest with you… this taste like death but it has saved me countless times.
I think I might vomit if I tried to take that, honestly. I might give it a shot if I can get my hands on some lemons and honey, though. Thank you. 💜
The first time I met my boyfriend’s grandparents, I was terrified. First, I really wanted them to like me, and second, he told me they were pretty religious. They’re Roman Catholic, but I’m Jewish, and I didn’t get the impression from the rest of his family that that would upset them, but I wasn’t sure they’d be chill with us dating, and I’m always afraid of those unconscious, anti-semitic micro-aggressions.
Sure enough, within an hour of meeting me they asked if I was religious, in a way that was obviously asking if I had a religion, and which one it was. I calmly told them I was Jewish, and my boyfriend’s grandmother lit up. Her mother was a Syrian who moved to Brooklyn in the early 1900′s and she grew up in a Syrian and Jewish community in Brooklyn and boy wasn’t it nice to have someone around who could help her with her Jewish pastry. It was really pleasant. His grandfather was mostly quiet.
After lunch, he and I shared a cup of coffee and some cookies and I told him about my brothers. He asked if my mom was ok with me dating a gentile. And then he looked around, saw we were alone for a sec, and asked me to follow him out to the garage. In the garage he asked me to take an old picnic basket down from off a cabinet. And then he told me to open it. The moment the lid came off I knew. I knew that shade of red. He told me to take it out and lay it across the floor. It was a Nazi flag. Not just a Nazi flag, but one that was big enough to fly outside a government office, like a massive one. I laid it out, ice in my veins, trying to figure out what was about to happen next. And then he told me to take my shoes off and stand on it.
He told me his vision wasn’t good enough to get into the army, so he snuck on a ship and figured that they’d have to deal with him when he was in Europe, and that’s what happened. He told me he went because they all knew it was bad, and he wanted to help. He told me he took the flag off of some dead Nazis. He told me to go home and tell my mother that I was safe with these goyim she’d never met, that I was loved and welcome and that they’d fight for me. He told me “Never Again”.
He passed away a few years ago, and only after his death, cleaning out his closets did we find his old patches and look up his division. This quiet man who said very little but always shared a cup of coffee with me after lunch was in an anti-tank division, and he and his division liberated camps in Poland. He saw the horrors, first hand.
Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day. Today is a day to reaffirm our promise of “Never Again”. Today is a day to remember that the only way for things to get better is to fight. Today is a good day to punch a Nazi. Do it for me. Do it for Grandpa Rocco. Do it for the world.
Amethyst's Archive 