Samedi: Curios

The beautiful, sea-blue stone known as aquamarine is an ancient talisman of those devoted to the sea. As I am thoroughly missing the blue water right now, I find it is high time to discuss the crystal most precious to my lwa, La Siren.

Aquamarine, a variety of beryl, has been used as a talisman and made into beads and pendants since the dawn of civilization. Beads of aquamarine have been found in Sumerian and Egyptian burials from as early at 4,000 BCE, when bead making was just taking off as an art form. The stone was thought to ease the soul's transition from life into afterlife, probably a stunning psychological trauma that needed - and needs - all the easing it can get.

The stone has long been believed to enhance psychic power, and is a favorite of those who work in the business of divination. Scott Cunningham, in his Encyclopedia of Crystal, Gem & Metal Magic, gives a simple yet powerful ritual for enhancing one's psychism and empathy. Place an aquamarine of any size, even the smallest bead will do, in a glass of fresh water and let this sit in the light of a full moon for three hours. Retrieve the stone, which you might want to tuck away wherever you store your divining tools, and drink the water to achieve increased psychic awareness. This ritual can be repeated as often as necessary.

Probably because of its color, aquamarine is associated with seafaring and safety on the water. The Phoenicians, whom the Ancient Egyptians simply referred to as "The Sea People," sent their men out into blue water with amulets of aquamarine to protect them from storms and drowning. Fishermen along the coasts of Europe and North Africa still wear aquamarine for this purpose. Tuck an aquamarine in your luggage, or wear one on your person, when you travel by or over water to safely arrive at your destination.

Aquamarine can also be used in the same ways one would use amethyst. Wear it to inspire courage, calm, joy, happiness and strong relationships as well as keep the mind alert. Bonne chance ~

Header: Orpheus and Eurydice by Michael Putz-Richard via Old Paint

Mardi: Herbal-Wise

The wives' tales of old, an ancient herbology that should never have been lost, are still alive thanks to some stubborn families and skilled researchers. One of the latter is Mary Chamberlain whose book Old Wives' Tales I cannot recommend enough. Here is what she gathered from 19th century England on the use of club moss for eye troubles:

Many incantations involved the use of numbers, often structured so that the numbers diminished... But the quaintness of the spells should not obscure their practical usage. For instance, elements of astrology were perceived as valuable symbols of healing. But more than that, the moon and sun directed not only the course of sickness but often the correct times for harvesting herbs for administering treatment. Club moss, for instance, was believed to be effective for all diseases of the eye, and had to be gathered on the third day of the moon when it was seen for the first time. The gatherer was directed to take the knife with which it was to be cut in the hand, show it to the moon and repeat:

As Christ healed the issue of blood
Do thou cut what thou cuttest for good.

Then, when the moon was setting, the gatherer had to wash the hands and cut the club moss while kneeling and wrap it in a white cloth. Afterwards it had to be boiled in water taken from a spring nearest to the place of growth and then the decoction could be used as a fermentation for the eyes. Or it could be made into an ointment after it had been mixed with butter made from the milk of a new cow.

Although the ritual appears both elaborate and heavily symbolic, it contained important principles. For the efficacy of many herbs does in fact lie in the correct time of harvest. The active principle in the herb may vary according to its freshness and time of gathering. Modern research has demonstrated, for instance, that the yield of morphine from the poppy gathered at nine o'clock in the morning is often four time the yield obtained twelve hours later.

And that once again goes to show that our ancestors, far from being superstitious morons, knew quite a bit more than modern technologies would make it appear.

Header: Woman in a Landscape by Walter Shirlaw via American Gallery

Mercredi: The Art of Beauty

Though many of our female ancestors were given no end of trouble over their penchant for cosmetics, jewels and other fripperies, the ladies of Ancient Egypt never seem to have had that problem.  From the earliest recorded times they were not only encouraged but expected to maintain a clean, lean, healthy appearance.  Elegance was over the top by the dawn of the New Kingdom, around 1,550 BCE, and this was especially true at the royal court where both ladies and gentlemen primped, plucked and groomed like modern celebrities.

One of the most interesting things about Ancient Egyptian culture, at least to me, is its unusual lack of change.  Things were pretty well set in place for close to 3,000 years as far as politics, religion, etiquette and so on.  This was true of fashion as well and so, with only a few fluctuations, we can look at the Ancient Egyptian’s beauty regimen as being fairly static throughout the culture.

Women in particular but men as well had a mania for removal of body hair.  This may have been due to a combination of the hot, arid climate of the Nile Valley, the ever-present threat of parasites and the cult of the body developed in Ancient Egypt.  Bodies, even those of the common folk, were worked over with a pumice stone virtually daily to remove all possible hair.  Among the working poor it was not unusual to remove one’s clothing to attend to heavy labor.  Bodies were easy to wash; linen was not.

Bathing was considered a must, even if it only meant pouring water over the body in the evening.  Many queens were notoriously addicted to bathing; Queen Nitocris required an hour long bath in cool water sprinkled with a pinch of natron every morning.

The head and hair were particular focuses of care.  Men routinely shaved and wore either wigs or cloth headdresses.  Depending on the era, women either did the same or wore their natural hair intricately dressed with jewels, metal and extensions of human or horse hair.  By the middle of the 18^th dynasty, baldness for women had become the norm.  Ladies polished their heads with precious oils and wore long, intricately plated wigs to formal occasions while wrapping their heads in elegant scarves at home. 

During the reign of Akhenaton, his daughters’ unusually elongated heads became a fashion icon.  The rumor was that a sorcerer had reshaped the girls’ heads in the womb to spare their beautiful mother Nefertiti the worst pains of childbirth.  Whatever the case, fashion historian Mila Contini tells us that court ladies tried to emulate the princesses’ unusually shaped heads by wearing false headpieces of vegetable fiber or wood.

Cosmetics were applied to face and body with regularity.  A fashionista would not think of leaving home without her hair in a perfect coif and her limbs perfumed with oils of lotus, myrrh or acacia.  Her complexion would be whitened with a lead-based paste followed by a delicate sienna blush at cheeks and temples.  The lips would be tinted the same red-orange color, as would the finger and toenails.  Eyes were heavily painted, usually with three or four different colors.  Black kohl rimmed the eyes and elongated the eyelashes while sparkling green malachite was swept over the eyelids.  The eyebrows were extended with antimony powder which was dark gray in color.  Very wealthy women might sweep a bit of gold dust just over the brow as a final highlight.

The ladies must have cut a very beguiling figure as they swept into a temple festival or royal feast.  It is no wonder that we are to this day fascinated by the beauty of Ancient Egypt.

Header: Two of Akhenaton’s daughters from the Metropolitan Museum of Art

Jeudi: Great Spirits

In Chinese tradition the 7^th month of the year, which begins mid-August, is known as Ghost Month.  Within the context of this remembrance of beloved and largely benevolent ancestral spirits is a darker celebration known as the Festival of Hungry Ghosts.  Hungry ghosts are the kind that are generally unspoken of and avoided at all costs but, during Ghost Month, they must be welcomed, entertained and remembered.  Otherwise unthinkable consequences will ensue.

In the Buddhist and Taoist traditions of China and certain other countries such as Malaysia, the gates of hell – usually closed to the hungry ghosts – are believed to open during the 7^th month.  The hungry ghosts are allowed to roam the earth seeking not only food but also amusement in the form of theatrical productions and music.  At this time, children are warned to be home before dark so that the ghosts will not mistake them for the food they crave.  Swimming is generally avoided; the hungry ghosts are often thought to cause drowning.  People try not to drive at night, and the word “ghost” – which is usually appropriate in regular conversation – is not uttered.  The terms “good brother” or “backdoor god” are used to avoid angering the spirits.

Hungry ghosts are believed to be the souls of people whose descendants no longer do them honor through offerings and remembrance.  To feed their ravenous need for not only food but earthly possessions as well, people burn joss papers in various forms.  Sometimes the papers look like cars or houses.  Other times they are replicas of money.  This so called “hell money” is said to be the currency of the netherworld.  Offering it to the hungry ghosts makes it possible for them to live in relative comfort and thus leave the living alone.

Altars of food and incense will also be set up, sometimes in the streets.  Local businesses will close to facilitate the hungry ghosts’ acceptance of these offerings.  Stage shows with live or recorded music will also be mounted with the first few rows of seats reserved for the phantom visitors.  Sitting in these seats will bring horrible luck or, at worst, possession by one of the “good brothers”.

Hungry ghosts are pictured as painfully thin people with huge, distended bellies, ribs showing, gray skin and disheveled or missing hair much like someone suffering from prolonged malnutrition.  Their necks are often imagined as pencil thin and very long, making it impossible for them to swallow what food they can find.   Tales are told of hungry ghosts failing to find their way back to hell and scavenging through garbage dumps at the edges of human towns.  They are invisible in daylight, but take form in the darkness.

In some places, the end of the Festival of Hungry Ghosts is marked by the lighting of lanterns which are then set afloat on outbound streams and rivers.  These are to light the ghosts’ way back to hell.  It is said that when the lanterns’ lights go out, the ghosts have gone home.  Hopefully, that means all of them.

Header: Japanese scroll depicting the realm of the hungry ghosts at left and how to make offerings to them at right via Wikipedia

Samedi: Voudon Calendar

Like most religions, Voudon has its own special festivals designed to bring worshipers into touch with the divine spirits.  Depending on where a voudonist is from, the main festivals, or fetes as they are called, will number between twelve and twenty per year.  I spent time in the Les Cayes region and keep the fetes that were taught to me there.  Though local festivals can raise the number to as many as thirty, this general list of fetes is an all around if not all inclusive example of the celebrations in Voudon.

Many of the fetes are synergized with Catholic Holy Days.  This, it goes with out saying, gave the original slave population of old Sante Domingue the opportunity to celebrate the lwa without drawing attention to their practices.  To masters and overseers, the slaves were celebrating Our Lady of Mount Carmel on July 16^th, for instance, when in fact they were raising a fete for Erzulie Freda.

For the purposes of this list, I will give the date, Voudon fete, Catholic Holy Day and significance as I understand it.

January 6,  Voudon Fete Les Rois, Catholic Epiphany: This celebration honors the ancestral kings of Africa and is similar to celebrations of the 9 African Powers in Santeria

February 25, Manje Tet Dlo, no corresponding Holy Day: Offerings are made to feed rivers and springs so that they will continue to provide sweet water

Movable fete usually in March or April, Fete Souvenance, Good Friday: A weeklong festival held in Souvenance which only houngans and mambos may participate in

March 20, Legba Zaou, no Holy Day: Homage is paid to Papa Legba through the sacrifice of a black goat

April 30, Manje mo, no Holy Day: Offerings of food are made to family ancestors

May 12, Manje lwa, no Holy Day: Offerings of food are made to the lwa sacred to the local ounfo

July 16, Fete Saut d’Eau, Our Lady of Mount Carmel: People make a pilgrimage to bathe in the waterfall at Saut d’Eau recognizing Erzulie Freda

July 25, Fete Ougo, St. James: People make a pilgrimage to Plaine du Nord in recognition of Ougo Ferraille

August 15, Fete Soukri Kongo, Feast of the Assumption:  Weeklong honoring of the Kongo lwa at Nan Soukri

November 2, Fete de mo, All Souls’ Day: Weeklong remembrance of dead family members and Ghede lwa like Maman Brigitte and Baron Samedi including ritual meals which are prepared without salt

November 25, Manje yanm, no Holy Day: Celebration of the harvest

December 25, Fete des Membres, Christmas: Every attempt is made to return to one’s home where ritual baths and feasting are part of the celebrations

December 28, Manje Marasa, Feast of the Holy Innocents: The divine twin lwa known as the Marasa are celebrated

My personal favorite is Fete de mo, because I especially appreciate that this is a celebration that was recognized by my Celtic ancestors as well.  Finding connections to all the things that we are and can be may be the best thing that any religion, “organized” or not, can do for us.  At least that’s what I hope for.  Bon Samedi mes amis ~

Header: Soukri Kongo celebration in modern Haiti via HaitiXchange.com

Samedi: Honoring the Mo

Ancestors, whether well remembered or long forgotten, are an important part of Voudon in daily practice.  When a soul passes, we are told, it retreats to the primordial waters of Ginen where it learns the secrets of life and death that no living human can know.  Once this transformation has occurred, the soul joins the ranks of the mo; the dead.  They can aid their descendants with a variety of issues, sending dreams to lead us on the right path.  They’re not much inclined to help out, however, if we ignore them and forget.

It is common practice in many homes of various religions to keep pictures of our deceased loved ones.  In my father’s Creole culture, for instance, pictures, votive statues, crucifixes and candles are often arranged on a fireplace mantel.  Grouping the pictures and other items together, on a form of altar, is a great way to begin to serve the mo.  Interaction with the ancestors does not have to be elaborate.  If it is sincere, however, the benefits will be enormous.

The mo, whether or not we know them by name, are always thankful for an offering of food and/or drink.  If you knew the person in life, take pains to offer them something they enjoyed.  A favorite offering at my ancestral altar is the occasional martini.  All four of my grandparents and my father were fond of a before dinner martini with an olive; I make sure the glass is chilled and has five olives in it – one for each.

For more ancient ancestors that you know something about, offerings of food or drink from their culture will always be appreciated.  My New Orleans ancestors like Creole chicken, for instance, while my French ancestors enjoy sparkling wine.

Knowing nothing about the ancestor is not by any means prohibitive to making offerings.  An excellent bit of advice in this regard is offered by mambo Sallie Ann Glassman: fresh water and any food made with grains will always be appreciated.

Most of the mo will never join the ranks of the lwa, but that doesn’t mean that their memory should be lost or that their help should not be actively sought.  Next week we will talk about setting up an altar at home and hopefully encourage you – whatever your spiritual path – to reconnect with those who came before you.

Header: Barataria Bayou c 1975; one of my ancestral homes

Samedi: At the Crossroads

One of the most sacred places in West African and European folklore, probably from a very early time, was the place where two paths crossed.  This awe of the interchange between four directions did not leave either culture as they developed and it came to the New World with Europeans and Africans alike.  In the religions and magickal disciplines of Voudon, New Orleans voodoo and American hoodoo, crossroads are to be respected, utilized and sometimes even feared.

The respect for a crossroads, which does not usually include a place where one road terminates at another but only a place where two road cross paths, is shown in large and small ways.  It is not unusual in Haiti or the American south to see shrines set up at crossroads.  These can be built for specific spirits, to ancestors, as offerings of thanks or as petitions for help.  It is interesting to note that American Christians have followed this tradition, probably without knowing it, by building shrines to victims of car accidents at crossroads.  Little offerings are often left at crossroads, usually with the same frequency that they are left in cemeteries.  Some magickal workings call for dirt or stones from a crossroads.

Taking a little dirt from one is not the only way to work crossroad magick.  Many root workers routinely leave tricks or what has been left over from their work at crossroads.  A magickal packet might be buried at the crossroads to strengthen its power; the worker may or may not come back for it after a prescribed number of days.  Leavings from magickal work: the stumps of candles, ashes, spent herbs or stones and so on might also be buried at a crossroad as a means of magickal disposal.  This way not only is the item gotten rid of, so is the energy that clings to it.  Some root workers say that love spells can be enhanced by leaving items at each crossroad between the worker and the subject of the spell.  Likewise, leaving completely different items at each crossroad between the house of an enemy and the way out of town will encourage them to leave.  Some hoodoos even say that a person on the lam from the law should go to a crossroads and take nine steps backwards in the opposite direction from the one they plan to travel.  This is thought to fool the authorities, making them constantly search in the wrong place.

The fear of the crossroads has probably grown out of the belief that the Devil resides there, or will more readily appear there if called upon.  A dark crossroads has become the ideal place to make a pact with the Devil, probably owing to the legend of Robert Johnson.  Most people in the U.S. have some vague familiarity with the story of Johnson, the famous blues guitarist (who incidentally was said to have been born May 8, 1911).  Desperate to master the guitar but unable to, Johnson made an unusual decision.  He went to a crossroads outside Robinsonville, Mississippi in the dead of night and there called up the Devil.  Johnson exchanged his soul for an unearthly talent.  For a few years, Johnson knew the heady rewards of fame but he died suddenly in 1938 in Greenwood. 

Johnson was a talented artist, but after his death stories circulated that he couldn’t play guitar worth beans until one day when he miraculously became a virtuoso.  Though Johnson never claimed to have made a pact with the Christian Devil, the rumor sprang up and has been talked about to this day.  The old belief about handing over one’s soul merged with the power of the crossroads in the story of Robert Johnson and a legend was born. 

I remember my Aunt Bette always crossed herself when we drove through a crossroads.  She said it was “just a habit” when asked but she was a New Orleans Creole born and bred and wiser than she’d let on.  I always wondered if she, a great connoisseur of jazz and blues, thought of Johnson and his moment with the Devil as we rode through those lonely crossroads of south Jefferson parish.  Too late to ask now, but I still wonder.

Header: Crossroads by Paul Stanley (a painting of Robert Johnson by a member of KISS ~ how cool is that?)

Samedi: The Frog With the Banjo

We have talked before about the importance of keeping quiet when in the midst of a magickal undertaking. Even after the thing is done and finished, whether successfully or not-so-much, the wise root worker keeps it to themselves, perhaps discussing it with a trusted companion or two but nothing more. Rumination on this time honored truth yesterday brought two things to my mind. The first involved the wisdom of this blog and the second involved an old hoodoo story about a reptile playing a stringed instrument.

The story, as I originally heard it, involves a frog with a banjo. Other versions I have sense collected include turtles, lizards and alligators as well as frogs playing banjos, guitars and fiddles. In one unusual case I found a version from Arizona that tells of an armadillo with a guitar, clearly a sign of not just hoodoo influence but Latino as well. Generally speaking, though, the animal is native to the bayous and swamps of the south and the instrument is either a banjo or a guitar. Here is the way I learned it:

A boy was out fishing in the bayou and the sun was going down. Unfortunately he had not been lucky and he wanted to catch something substantial before he headed home. He dipped his hook in the murky water and closed his eyes tight, praying for a healthy fish to take home to Grandpa. After a minute, the boy swore he heard someone strumming a banjo and then he heard singing too. He opened his eyes in surprise because this spot was not usually visited by anyone else.

Imagine the boy’s astonishment when, on a log floating by, he saw a frog playing a tiny banjo and singing in a handsome, tenor voice. The boy stood up, dropped his pole and with his heart thumping in his chest he ran home as quick as he could. He burst in to the little house where he and his grandpa lived.

“Grandpa! Grandpa! You’ll never guess what I saw.”

“Probably not,” Grandpa said without looking up from his paper. “You catch anything?”

“Yes! No! Grandpa, I saw a frog playing a banjo!”

Grandpa looked up this time, his white eyebrows raised and his dark brow furrowed. “You what?”

“I saw a frog playing a banjo down to the bayou, and he was singing too. Come on now. This is something you – ”

For as old as he was, Grandpa moved pretty well and before the boy could finish his sentence Grandpa grabbed him by the arm. The boy got a whipping he would remember all his life for lying, and Grandpa sent him to bed without supper.

The next day, after school was done, the boy managed to talk his grandpa into going fishing with him. He prayed the whole way down to the fishing hole that the frog would float by again, singing in his sweet voice and strumming on that banjo. After a time of silence, the boy started to talk about the frog again. Though Grandpa said he’d hear no more about it, the boy couldn’t help himself. As the sun began to go down, Grandpa was about to give that boy another whipping just for lying twice over.

All of a sudden, the sound of a banjo floated over the water and a handsome, tenor voice was heard singing along with the melody. Grandpa looked and there was that frog just like the boy had said, with a banjo in his little, amphibian hands. And the frog sang: “You all have seen me. Don’t tell all you know. Live happy now.”

The boy and Grandpa went home, and never again did either of them mention that magickal frog. In return, no matter when they went to that fishing hole they always caught enough fish to feed themselves and a few neighbors besides.

Of course the frog is a totem animal, otherworldly and only capable of working his magick if the creatures he looks after keep their mouths shut. The lesson is well taken. If we speak too freely, the ancestors will doubtless give us the beat-down. Faites attention, mes amis ~

Header: Frog Playing a Banjo in Moonlight via AllPosters.com

Jeudi: Great Spirits

It is Thanksgiving Day here in the U.S. and what better way to give thanks then to return to the roots of the world we live in, for all our ancestors are sacred. Here is a piece of the Hymn to Gaia written by the great Greek story teller Homer:

Gaia, mother of all
Foundation of all, the oldest one
I shall sing to Earth
She feeds everything
That is in the world
Whoever you are
Whether you live upon her sacred ground
Or whether you live along the paths of the sea
You that fly
It is she who nourishes you
From her treasure store
Queen of Earth, through you
Beautiful children and beautiful harvests come
The giving of life
And the taking of life
Both are yours
Happy is the man you honor
The one who has this, has everything

Regardless of where you are, I hope you have much to be thankful for today and always.

Header: Ancient Greek bas-relief

Samedi: Honoring The Ghede

Some of our Ancestors may have become part of the collective known in Haitian Voudon as “the Ghede”. They are the spirits of the “forgotten dead”, unnamed and unremembered but no less sentient for it. Voudon recognizes that even in cultures where honoring ancestors is important, not every name will be remembered and the religion gives those who practice it an “out” in the form of the Ghede.

I try very hard to honor my ancestors throughout the year. I have a small ritual which I learned when I was in college from those who practiced sevis lwa; service to the lwa. One makes an offering of the first drink of the day, whether it is coffee, milk, juice or water, while deliberately saying the names of those who have gone before. The little ritual is rightly done outside and the offering poured on the ground but at six thirty in the morning in January in Alaska no decent spirit would have the heart to make me go outside. It’s all I can do to open the door for our St. Bernard. In the winter, the offering goes down the sink. In summer, though, my Sitka roses benefit from my devotions.

Take the glass or cup that holds your beverage of choice in both hands and make an X in the air in front of your eye line. Bring the glass to the center of the X and toss it for just a second into the air. You are only releasing it very briefly, so spillage should be minimal. Say: Great ancestors, I honor you or something like that. I’m giving you my recitation; making up your own will add meaning to your ritual.

Now pour out some of the beverage and say: For those whose names are remembered, then recite the names of those family members who have died. I reach back as far as 300 years, to Big Rene and Rose Beluche but that is only because I know them. Perhaps you only have your grandparents’ names at hand; that is all you need. First names are plenty as well; it’s all family.

Now pour a bit more liquid out and say: For those whose names are forgotten, yet do I remember you here. Take a moment to meditate on all those ancestors that you have no knowledge of. I particularly remember my ancestors who were indentured and enslaved, who died in a place that was completely foreign to them without being able to pass on their names.

Pour a last bit of your drink and say: And for those who bones are buried in this earth upon which we tread, ancestors as we honor you watch over us. Now your ritual is done and, should you have a touch of good fortune during your day, it wouldn’t hurt to thank your ancestors again just in case they engineered your luck in response to your remembrance.

At this time of year you might consider taking up this or another ritual that brings you closer to your ancestors. They await your call and they will respond in kind. And then brag to their less fortunate friends about the honor done them by their descendants, like the proud parents they are.

Header: Dwapo lwa (prayer flag) of The Ghede available for purchase, along with many other lovely pieces of Haitian art, at La Sosyete Belle Fleur Ginen’s website

Jeudi: Root Work

Now is the time of year when our thoughts turn inward. We begin to think about plans for the coming year as the cold and dark (very dark where I live) close in around us. It’s not necessarily oppressive, or I don’t find it so, and it gives us time that might have been turned toward other things, like our home or garden, back to ourselves. Now is a good time for family and a good time to remember our ancestors.

In the celebrations of Dia de los Muertos and Fête de Mort, it is common to set up what is known in Voudon as a “white table”. More frequently referred to as an ancestral altar, this is a place where pictures of our family as well as things they loved – books, drinks, flowers, foods, jewelry, etc. – can be displayed and offered as a way of letting those who went before us know that we realize they are still with us, just in a different sort of way.

None of this has to be particularly fancy. Some white tables are, of course, but you can just as appropriately honor your ancestors on a nicely draped and decorated TV tray as you can in a huge credenza. Particularly in our modern culture, when we don’t think much about our ancestors in general, they will appreciate any effort you make. I like to keep a white 7 day candle (those candles with the tall glass holders that you see in Catholic churches) burning on mine in memory of those whose names are remembered and those whose names are forgotten. The candles are available at the grocery store and if they tip over they are designed to go out automatically. Safety first. Also, the general recommendation is that ancestral altars not be set up in a bedroom. Dining rooms and particularly kitchens are very popular for this sort of thing as the ancestors will feel part of your daily routines.

Remember that you are not obligated to bring energies you cannot live with into your home. If you have a relative who was ill tempered and/or abusive they need not be included on your altar. Even if you can’t choose your family you can choose your companions. On the other side of the coin, I personally feel very connected to some ancestors that I would never have any way of knowing personally and, in fact, did not know of until I was an adult. If you have that kind of interaction with some of your many-generations-back relatives, find a way to represent them on your altar. Pictures are just the start.

This project is great for letting your imagination go to work. With only a little effort, a white cloth and some flowers to start, you can make a pleasing place for both you and the people who cared for and care for you. Taking the time to set up a white table now may make you want to keep it up year round. The ancestors can be a helpful group of allies, if you communicate with them regularly.

Header: Voudon white table via Kiwi Mojo (I would have posted a picture of mine but our camera has decided to join the ancestors)