Making Your Ancestor Altar

Maybe you spent a quiet day of reflection, or maybe you choked down greasy food while your uncle ranted in his MAGA hat. Even when our living and known ancestors aren't people we easily love, ancestors are the best source of spiritual connection.

An ancestor altar can be large or small, in an out-of-the-way corner or in a prominent spot. Someone with roommates or privacy concerns could have something as simple as a picture of a departed loved one with a candle.

There are no rules, except not to mingle things of the living on the ancestor altar, less the ones who have passed on call to the living and bring them over too soon.

My altar recently grew, partly with the addition of some great art. Spending money and having artwork isn't needed--an altar can be simpler or even feature your own artwork. Besides the work I bought from an artist--and supporting artists and rootworkers is important to me--most items on the altar are things I already had.

This lovely shoe artwork is the center of my altar. It represents justice and diversity, and was made by the wonderful Auntie Sindy at Todomojo, who offers lots of reliquaries, artwork, and readings. The mirror with shells around it  was made by my Grandpa and is positioned to help show off the back of the shoe. All animal products were humanely gathered from naturally-deceased animals. 

The back of the shoe has vertebrae (again, humanely collected). It reminds me of my need to work on my root chakra and remain mindful of the needs of my spine, a particular challenge through my life. The scarf belonged to my grandma. 

Both sides of the shoe are gorgeous. My deceased protector/familiar dog watches over from behind.

The front of the shoe pushes forward, the dollies representing diversity. My husband's family is more highlighted on one side of the altar (mine on the other--but they are not strictly segregated), and we use battery-operated candles for a 24-hour burning without fire worries when we are gone or asleep. 

Our altar is the top of an entertainment center. The dolly to the right is made of my Grandma's old scarves. The tin cup belonged to my grandparents and sat by their sink; I use it for liquid offerings. We honor human family, but also our deceased animal companions and musicians (such as the print of John Lennon's Little Flower Princess lyrics). 

Three Gnarled Fingers Pointing Back at You

Royalty-free image from http://www.publicdomainpictures.net.

Of course, not all witches have gnarled fingers. This is a stereotype, and stereotypes are inconsistent with the deep truth-telling that is the work of most witches and other spiritual people. Perhaps as an indicator of this, the most-viewed post on this blog is, by far, about racism in the magick community. It recounts a visit I made to a lecture by a witch I admire, only to have a fellow attendee unload with comments that the surrounding, majority African-American, neighborhoods were "dangerous." She held forth about fear of driving through, much less parking in, such an area. 

While these attitudes, often unconscious, are ugly and deserve examination, most of us work on these issues--on our own or in community. I recently came across an inspiring example of examining and taking responsibility for race-based perceptions. It was the opposite of the ugly attitudes grasped in the previous post. 

Gary, Indiana is 80 percent African-American. It was devastated by white flight, largely in retaliation for electing the first black mayor (concurrent with Cleveland, Ohio). A good summary is here, although Mayor Hatcher, interviewed in the article, has his own viewpoint. 

Around the Northwest Indiana area, Gary is a proxy for (synonymous with) race. For example, a white politician in neighboring Merrillville once gloated in a public meeting he removed basketball hoops from a local park after seeing "people from Gary" playing basketball at the park. Pressed on how he knew the players were "from Gary," he admitted this assumption was based on their being black. Without fail, the local "press" reports crimes by black suspects with more certainty and venom than those by white suspects, and a notable effort is made to tie crimes back to Gary and to scream "Gary" from the headlines. The two "news"papers were early white-flighters, so perhaps they seek a post hoc justification of their bigotry or seek to offer the same succor for their suburban readership.

Against this backdrop, many of the all-white towns are an intimidating, judgmental backdrop for Gary residents who venture forth for food and goods due to the blight in the city. In one such foray, I reluctantly befriended a gifted spiritual teacher who has 20 years experience in Earth-based study and began taking classes from her. It never hurts to sharpen one's anthame, even when it is usually one's finger. As I settled into relaxed, weekly discussions, there was often an edge of discomfort about my hometown. As with everything, friendships wore the edges down, and people became comfortable sharing their experiences. 

During one particularly frank session, my friend revealed the complexity of her feelings about Gary. She had had a bad experience there as a teen, being shot at while in a speeding car. This is not an unusual story among those in the towns surrounding Gary, many of whom believe Mayor Hatcher installed stop signs purposefully to allow black people to attack white people with bats and rob them when the cars came to a halt. Further complicating matters, my friend currently lives in a small town where the town council, considering whether to merge their sewer system with Gary's, had an open, public debate about whether mixing white people's poop with that of black people would make Jesus cry. (I do not think she has an opinion on Jesus' opinion, but have made a note to inquire.)

However, the discussion with my friend took a turn unheard of in the towns surrounding Gary: rather than pointing fingers at the "people from Gary" involved in the shooting, she looked at her own involvement. Perhaps, we agreed, her likelihood of being involved in a chase and shoot-out was influenced less by geography and more by the fact her boyfriend, with whom she rode in the shoot out, was a Latin King. While, certainly, a gang member or associate no more deserves to be hurt than anyone else, it seems likely that keeping this company would expose one to more bullets than would tamer conquests. 

This discussion is on sharp contrast to the woman who would not turn off her fear-o-meter after having seen a few black people during her commute. Looking inside and breaking down the reason for our fears is a far better answer, even in matters or real or perceived personal safety, than pointing fingers. Christoper Pike is thought to have said that when you point at someone else, there are three fingers pointing back at you. You can give yourself a big thumbs up if you can identify your own Latin King. And, we all have work to do on understanding how our world came to be, and remains, a sometimes divided and wounded place. 

Does the W in Witch Mean White?

Trigger warning: I don't respect your path if you are racist, you delicate little white flower, you!

In AHS Coven, Kathy Bates plays a resurrected slave-owning racist (like the ones we have on this plain at this time aren't enough!) and Angela Bassett's Marie Leveux gets revenge!

A few years ago, a talented musician--the one-man band Earwig Spectre--had a hit called "What Does W Stand For?" The possible answers, in the song, were "wealth, waste, war," but ultimately the fascist (now beacon of liberal hope by comparison) George W. Bush.

(For a view on times our community got it right, please see my subsequent post.)

Two more widely-used words starting with w are witch and wiccan. For some, these paths include "white magik," which sometimes includes liberal application of white light and white salt. As I mentioned in a previous post, this isn't my path, but it is a respected and valid one. The question is, do all these "w" words mean this path is only for white people?

Last night, I attended an event for a witch I have long admired. I am leaving her name and the group name out of this post, because this is not about one personality--in fact, she could little have controlled the venue and audience. The event was in a gentrified, largely white (58 percent in 2015) area of a city (a major city that isn't as major as it thinks it is).

Upon parking, I saw a woman in a black, floral-print skirt and jacket that was colorful and heavily beaded. She was looking around a bit lost, so I asked if she was okay. We had a shared concern about parking and whether there was a meter to pay and identified the entrance to the event.

Upstairs, I asked the woman about a second foray she had made to be sure about the parking issue. (This was worth doing, since this is in a city where they will tow your car for no reason whatsoever, unless you are black--in which case they shoot you and then send your estate tickets for the car.) Not having known me for 10 minutes, the woman quickly shared that the parking was okay, but she had been really worried for her safety. In fact, she has passed "slums" on her way to the venue and thought she might not be safe to park and walk to the venue. I tried to redirect her by rather gently suggesting that this was actually an area that was problematic because of gentrification and that there was nothing to fear from the surrounding, predominantly African-American neighborhoods in this hypersegregated city (whether a place is still a "city" when its residents embrace such parochial--and vile--practices as segregation is another question). The woman persisted, despite my cues, in making inappropriate comments about black people and the neighborhoods around the event, so I ended the conversation, stating that perhaps she should fear the bankers who live in her suburban oasis (which, based on census data, contains about 23 total black people).

The event itself was white. Out of about 50 people, one woman identified herself (saying she supported diversity in her comments) as indigenous American. The group is holding a festival this weekend in an area that is 67 percent white (.07 percent indigenous). Of course, they cite cost concerns, but one has to wonder if all urban neighborhoods were included in the cost analysis, or just the "safe" ones.

In contrast, I recently attended Conjure Fest in Detroit. There, I was not only in (near) a diverse city, but among a group with black people in the leadership and a consciousness of celebrating diversity. The incomparable organizer pointed to diversity as a reason for the festival--creating a culture of celebrating, not just tolerating. The efforts at inclusion were successful, blogged up beautifully here (the post that convince me to make the trip to the Fest).

White people--witch, wiccan, pagan and other--have a huge, unfulfilled obligation to stop engaging in--and tolerating--assumptions that majority-minority neighborhoods are unsafe and other racists tropes. These comments are entirely out of place in a system built on diversity and respect. As a group, we can make a big step forward by actively seeking to hold events in diverse venues. On an individual level, expressing the truth that all kinds of communities--including predominantly African-American ones--are safe, welcoming, and fulfilling places to be challenges the ethos of protecting whiteness with layer upon layer of whiteness, with white women's perception of safety being paramount (even unto the lynching of blacks who--allegedly--whistle at them). Otherwise, we might as well just bring the kindling and burn ourselves, howling our righteous whiteness as we burn.