Bookshelves (Patreon)

(Reposted and edited from a brain blurble I had over on Instagram. Mostly it's just me replacing "alter" with "altar" because it turns out they are two different words!)


I've been seeing photos on Instagram and an article or two about how some women are really getting into keeping altars in their homes. Like, the kinds with candles and objects they feel have mystical --or straight-up magical-- powers. Part of me scoffs and part of me is so jealous of people who have faith.

But then I look to my left and what do I have but an entire WALL dedicated to my own altar of the objects I find most sacred, that have the power to give me peace of mind, that help guide the directions I take in life, that reassure me that I am not alone in a world that doesn't care.

Nearly every morning I follow my unintentional ritual of pulling back the window's curtain and taking a moment to soak in the sight of the morning light illuminating my life time's collection of books. Books I have carted with me from childhood home to dorm room to apartment to apartment to rented house to rented townhouse to my home.

I wish I believed in a higher power, but I just can't (except for when I'm on a plane that hits turbulence, then I suddenly become a lot more open-minded, but it ends as soon as the flight smooths out). People sharing their stories with the world is what lights up my life, gives me faith that there is more to life than eating and shitting and fucking. Stories make my world connected, they make my life have meaning.

Books are my sacred object, and I've presented them in a position of prominence and respect in my house where I follow my own little rituals of observance.

My altar is my bookshelves.