a home shrine
“Ceremonies are how we remember to remember,” writes Robin Wall Kimmerer. And so, we make time to honour life’s abundant blessings.
A handful of rice, a white feather, a fallen camellia bloom... there is a large rattan tray in the centre of our kitchen table, and the girls add their crystals & pebbles, their petals & promises. When the sun streams through the side window, as it does at just the time at which we sit to eat breakfast, the tray is cast in golden light – like coins strewn into a wishing well.
The crystals glint and beckon. Translucent rose quartz, labradorite with its holographic opalescence, turquoise that has never been so bold or blue. The girls hands reach out – feeling with their hearts… they’re always drawn to a different stone… mangano calcite, tourmaline, rainbow quartz, and the chosen one is popped into a pocket: a guardian for a while, before being returned back to the tray, a candle in the middle, scenting the air while we tuck into sourdough & honey, laced with rosemary.
A tiny vase to hold just one or two stems, becomes the vessel for the morning’s thanks. Beautiful weeds bursting into being all over our scattergun garden – tulips beside garlic, sunflowers beside kale. I sit in the sweet-apple air, breathing deep, a cup of hot water in my hands. It’s so silent. Everyone still asleep… even the neighbours’ chucks still cooped and dozing. I snip just two or three short stems. Lavender blue, petal white… water into the vase, stems follow suit.
I delight in the placement. I am not a particular type… I do not mind a little disorder… but here, on this tray, I work intuitively. Each morning, a different stone, a new slice of light, a bloom or two to retire or refresh… a pot filled with sandalwood powder, a finger tapped and touched with blessing… I light the candle at the centre, and play a little gentle classical music… Bach’s Aria from the Goldberg Variations, takes me straight back to Hana and her English Patient…
It is a dreamy time, of myth & memory. Morning… when all is possible – no one else to tell you otherwise. My favourite time – most of all in Spring, when the birds get so giddily excited by the promise of another new day, that they squawk themselves silly at first light.
How magical, right here, right now – before the headlines creep in, the phone rings, the messages undercut this feeling… how I look forward to it every day, and how I long for it again once it is gone.
