Sacred Shelter

If all of life is sacred,

If our bodies are temples,

Then our homes are holy cities,

Our living rooms like chapels,

Each bedroom a sanctuary. 

The photos of my grandparents,

The small album by my bedside,

Relics from a time I now revere.

My grandmother's locket with my photo inside,

A protective charm next to my pillow.

The milagros crosses above my bed,

Altar pieces.

Books on the nightstand,

Sacred texts.

The childrens' art work covering our walls,

Cathedral paintings transmitting meaning.

Smells from the kitchen and smoke from extinguished candles,

Incense, smudge.

Our every action,

A ritual offering.

Our every exchange,

Praise and blessing.

On our chosen altars,

The likeness of an ancestor,

The depiction of a deity,

The gifts we take from nature, only to return them,

A rock, a pebble, a flower and a leaf,

Fruit from the trees and vegetables from the garden,

Tears we shed for all we have lost, 

Gratitude for what we have gained,

Joys that spill over and cannot be contained,

And burdens we can no longer carry.

Leaving all this on the altar cloth,

Receiving in turn a benediction, an absolution, renewal of our strength.