Remembering my altars

Jan 9th, 2018 | By | Category: Articles

by Irisanya Moon

I know that daily practice is a practice, a way to settle in and come back to center. I know that daily practice and sitting at my altars connects me with the divine, the deities I work with regularly, and with myself.

I know this. But when my life fell apart, I did not run to my altars. I ran away.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, nor have I had a moment after my mom died when I told the gods they could shove it. I just didn’t go to my altars.

I let the dust collect. I let the incense remain unburned. I stopped looking at them. I turned away.

It’s taken months and moons and tears to come back. And the gods are patient. Or, at least, the gods I work with are patient. As patient as beings that understand humans need time to be. We need time to run away.

The only altar that made it through the silence was a collection of amethyst, dried flowers from her funeral, and a rosary I’ve never used to pray. The altar to my mother was the only thing that made sense. My new Beloved Dead.

Since the last full moon, since the turning of the calendar year, the altars are calling to me.

Dust me.

Cleanse me.

Come back.

Return.

I can hear them singing:

“Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn’t matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.” ― Rumi

Between the supermoons, I give gratitude for the stillness and prepare for whatever is next.

I will remove all of the things.

I will clean the statues of Aphrodite, of Artemis, of Hecate.

I will burn their incense.

I will sing their songs.

I will come again.

I will remember that while I have been a lover of leaving, I have been a Witch who has turned away, I am also the magick of the return.

I will return.

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