Note: All archive entries are from Emergence-Activate Zoom poetry readings, organized by Nicky Rainey and Lucien Aeon.
The sun enters Taurus on the 19th. The meme-makers online focus on Taurus’s love of food and naps, but what can get glossed over is this fixed sign’s immovable quality. Have you ever argued with a Taurus? Don’t. Even if you win them over, they’ll never tell you. And chances are, they have Gemini elsewhere in their chart, so they’ll be able to enumerate their grievances against you with startling alacrity.
But what does the sun moving into Taurus mean for you? I’d say it’s two-fold: 1) caring for your physical circumstances, and 2) recognizing where and how you are immovable.
I thought this week we’d address both of those vibrations, by thinking about intentionally creating altars. Chances are, since we’re all arty, you already have forms of altars in your home already. Our reigning queen/living goddess Erykah Badu recommends we rearrange our altars daily. I light mine daily, and zhuzh them up when it feels right.
Altars can be for deities, ancestors, a purpose (spellwork), and ourselves. Trust your instincts: what calls to you? What feels right? I don’t want to get over-instructional here because individuality is what makes the cake taste so fine. (This is how I feel about all witchy things, actually.)
A little bit on different kinds of altars:
Deities/spiritual guides–If you don’t know a name, arrange things that are pleasing to you and look them up later. You may find a pattern of river stuff, ocean stuff, sunshine-y things, moonlight-y things. My gothy partner calls on Nyx and Hecate, who match his whole aesthetic. Travelers, I advise you to look into the various crossroad and voyager protectors. The possibilities are endless; another piece of directional advice I give is to look into who your great-grandma may have paid respects to. Lineage carries its own powers. Be flexible and open-minded; I figure we’re all good at that. (Note: some of these folks expect regular offerings; keep up with that. Gods are like people. They can get testy if they don’t get their snacks.)
Ancestors–arrange photos of your forebears, plus stuff they would like, for a good ancestor altar. If you don’t have photos, draw a glyph or illustration to represent them. Kinda over your family? That’s fine! Adopt-an-ancestor. Example: David Bowie is here for all the world’s weird little children. Who has inspired you in your life? Who do you think would have your back? Bam! Ancestor.
Altars for spellwork literally fill books and could be their own session for these meetings. Totally message me to discuss if you want to get a spell started. I would love that, multiple clap emojis, can’t stress it enough.
Which brings me to my big Taurus season finale: make a shrine to yourself. Everybody is changed by this time, and that’s awesome! But what about you are you finding to be steadfast? I have discovered, through quarantine, that I am endlessly silly, sing ceaselessly, and love all things sci-fi/fantasy. (I understand that one can read books without magical realism, I just don’t know why they would.) What have you discovered to be unshakable about yourself, and how can you nurture it?
What symbol represents you? How would you talk about yourself in a mythical way? Go wild here; humility is a tool of the patriarchy. Altars require iconography; choose that and build around it with items that embody you, your history, and your intentions. (We will get more into intentions next time.) Arrange these things–they are fetishes, to use the anthropological term, and that’s fun– in a way that satisfies you. It’s the same kind of satisfaction as polishing off a bit of writing that finally feels fully birthed. Feel free to tinker with the structure and its ingredients over time. Observe what does, and doesn’t change. Observe how it feels to have a temple to the self in your space.
Ellen The Red 