Altar

For: All Hallow's-Samhain/Dia del Muerte/Ch'ing Ming

Dedicated to Nataraja, Lord of the Dance, witness.

Here is my altar for some who will never be back:
In the front row, by my toe,
is a white and empty shell
gathered from a beach on a day
when I should have seen
things should not have gone any further.
That shell carries the ocean of Yemoya, the sea goddess, with it,
the ocean that shelters us in the womb power
of vast calm and movement
when we need to be reminded of greater connectedness.
To the left of the shell
a cracked walnut -
from a dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant
that was a first adventure,
a gift from nature which is Shango the god of thunder
and righteous anger, in one of his presentations,
to remind us that breaking apart
is just as natural a process
as bringing together;
that all seeds need to crack open
in order for new growth to merge;
and that new growth comes from even the
crudest and plainest-looking of beginnings.
To the right of the shell
a small blue bird's egg
speckled with spatterings of birthing fluid and mud,
gathered from a treasure shop on a fourth of July,
a gift from Obatala, god of creativity,
to show that new anti-entropy is always
frail and delicate and easily injured,
but that it carries within it the power
to become strong and capable and self-defending,
and that all new unity carries chaos, disorder, and distraction within it.
All three sit on red plates borrowed from Chinese New Year good luck wishing.
These three are the gifts of the natural world :
Breaking Apart - Shiva
Feeling and Swimming in the All that is also the Nothing - Vishnu
Coming Togetherr - Brahma

Behind, in the next row, are three dieties dancing in maya:
On the left, Lao-tse appears as fat Chinese housegod,
laughing at meaningfulness,
holding a guitar between his legs Jimi Hendrix-style
and singing:
I don't mind
if the mountains
fall in the sea
eventually
I don't mind . . .
if all the hippies
cut off all of their hair
I don't care . . .
On the right, a dancer with the body of Venus
and the face of Krishna, el guapo,
full of seduction and attraction,
soft and silky, but also VERY sticky.
In the center, a gypsy and traveler,
with the face of a raven
moves through all things and keeps moving,
always discovering new territory and trying new things.
He has the nimble feet of a man who can dance.

Behind these, another row, the essences:
Ogun, the god of war, stands tall on the left,
with dracula fangs, wielding fire and ice,
and rending flesh and blood.
Astarte/Rhianna, the white goddess,
stands languid on the right,
clothed in thin robes, suggesting the fertility
of warm summer full moon nights, and the potentials of dream.
In the center, Isis as a crone bends sadly over
Osiris with an old body and a baby face.
Above all of these, a Balinese female winged shamaness
bare-breasted and comely
and with men's hands and feet, looking up toward the sky.
This is the soul that flies from, to, and in: freedom.
She holds in her open hands, a bowl of water
filled with rocks, over one of which is stretched
backwards, a woman in ecstasy, and water flowing
up from the center of this Fountain of Surrender to Joy
drops gently down onto the woman's open stomach.
And last, but never least, disrupting as always every rhythm,
running diagonal and a-scatter through the midst of all,
the trickster and fool, Esha-Elegba,
- a fish on a bicycle -
rides through the ruins.
Do not laugh, or you will not escape next time either.
The figures of this altar
are set into a hill of feathers
that swoop and shiver with every passing breath,
and there is a white shadow shimmering over all.
Look for the last time.
Now I light the whole altar on fire
and walk away.

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My apologies to the ancestors of the Yoruba,
and to all my own ancestors, for any misinterpretations.
That is all.