Written by There’s a windowsill in my kitchen that isn’t an altar.
It has a small piece of obsidian, a dried sprig of rosemary from last summer, a tea light in a holder I found at a thrift store, and a photo of my brother.
I didn’t set it up with intention. It just… accumulated. One object at a time, over months, until one morning I looked at it and realized something was happening there.
I think that’s how a lot of our practice actually begins. Not with ceremony, but with instinct. Before we know the right words or the proper correspondences, something in us starts arranging the world around us in a particular way.
We’re drawn to certain objects. We place