Tag Archives: home

My altar to myself

Image makunin via Pixabay

I have never had an altar and I found the instructions of building one for myself just not me, not something I would do.

I looked around and found that, really, my home is my altar and I made that comment to my dear friend.

I felt it was egotistical to say my home was my altar, that it placed attachment to my things.   And perhaps there is some attachment to a few of the items.

My friend reminded me that my house used to be my prison and that transforming it into my altar was a major accomplishement.   I sat with that thought….

My house was not a home for so many years, it was a place to hang my hat.  Home is where the heart is and there was no love amongst the walls, no trinkets of adornment, no comforts with its furnishings or the people who resided there.

As my divorce came and went, the house had become mine to do with it what I wanted. No compromise with others, no decisions made just to please another.   I was and am free to do what I want.  Awareness for what I needed became apparent as the cast of characters in my life stepped off the stage. As I had looked to others in my house of life for the love and acceptance, I had to turn to self-love and self-acceptance.

The walls that held secrets of the arguments, the abuse, the anger and resentment, I had them plastered over. Part of my history that were painful building blocks of who I am today, I’m stronger for it.  Plaster and paint gave a fresh page to a new chapter.  The house is an eccentric museum of my life and the things I hold dear, the memories and experiences which have shaped me in this lifetime. The books I loved reading and those I would love to read. Treasures and antiquities from my adventures. Colors and fabrics that bring me comfort.

Even a toy from my childhood with a hole and a torn eye sits on a shelf, a reminder of family vacations when they were still fun, and I was innocent.

Like an onion, each item is a layer of my life and peeling away one layer only brings about another.

The structure that, in the past, held no charm and had no atmosphere, now welcomes everyone once they cross the threshold.  The energy of my altar is one of peace. It’s a place where every room invites you to stop and sit a spell.  Blow the dust off almost any item on the shelves and there is a story of wonder and discovery to be told.

On the floor are framed photos of people and places I love and one day they will finally find their place on a wall. My tribute to them.

My home is not finished.  It’s a work in progress as is my life.


Guest Blogger

The ROUND TRIP that took 500 years!

The ROUND TRIP that took 500 years!

In fourteen hundred and ninety two,
Columbus sailed the ocean blue…
And all hell broke loose

Hell? Yep! HELL!

Indigenous peoples were summarily killed off by exotic diseases, bayonets or gunfire…at least from their points of view!

There are many off shoots of the original Columbus story…may I present my own?

Hundreds of years ago my innocent ancestors were shoved aboard British Cargo ships and taken to the West Indies, which Columbus had earlier discovered.
My ancestors were packed like sardines into the hulls of the cargo ships along with other precious human cargo from the African continent.
The Indians and the Africans were transported to the faraway islands to be slaves and indentured laborers.
They did not have to have any actual currency…they only paid with their lives!
If they survived the torturous journey they got to disembark IN chains!
They were then immediately put to work in the sugar cane fields and that is how hundreds of years later a baby girl called Indrani Nathu came to be born in Trinidad and Tobago!
My great, great, great, great grandfather was unceremoniously transported to the newly discovered West Indies…a ONEWAY passage into a life of Hell.
He left all that he had ever known and would never be able to see his parents or siblings again… just think of this for one minute.
Imagine someone coming into your city and taking one of your sons and you never see him again. He is alive…just unavailable to you!
All alone on the other side of the world and probably not speaking a word of English, he made a life for himself. He found someone to marry and his offspring belonged to his Master.
In 1953, I was born into an East Indian family, now completely living a West Indian life.
I never thought about my ancestors, I lived my life and accepted all that had happened without giving thought to their hardships.
BUT now, I am going BACK to a city that I have never been to…except through my ancestral blood line.
I am completing the ROUND TRIP for my ancestors who were so sadly stripped from all that they knew.
I am heading to Chennai, India to teach my workshops on Domestic Violence.
I feel so honored to be completing this journey for my family. I only wish I knew where to find my people so I could tell them that their beloved sons survived and married and eventually thrived.
In the absence of knowing exactly which families I came from, I will honor all the people I meet and treat them all as family knowing that some elements of my DNA probably lives within them.

This journey has come full circle…and it does feel like coming home.
Love and light,