winged altar

Cas sneaking down and taking a vessel during the renaissance and becoming close to an art student. The art student learns of Cas’ true celestial nature and paints Cas’ image on the walls of a small, quiet church somewhere.

The church becomes one of Cas’ favorite places on earth which he would often visit seeking solace when he still had full use of his wings. He’d sit there silently, allowing the peace of the church to envelop him.

-

There are whispers about how this tiny, unassuming church is truly blessed because the centuries-old artwork in the church still remains perfectly preserved, untouched by grime and the passing of time, the colors beautiful and bright.

The locals also speak of a mysterious figure who visits the church and sits in the pews, gazing upwards, a soft smile gracing their lips as they look at the brilliant angel with outstretched wings painted above the altar.

3

Altars for Artemis and my spirit and ancestor work; still need to do some futzing to make them pretty and install some shelves for the latter altar, but I think they’re coming along!


Some random info:

- The herbal offering for Artemis is called “Maiden Huntress” and is blended by a friend here in Virginia, and is for sale at our shop.
- The bones were all ethically sourced or gifted. Those displayed on the altar were blessed under yesterday’s solar eclipse.
- The small cauldron is pottery from Oaxaca, found in an antique store.
- The wing on the ancestral altar was purchased from a Native American craftsman, and is NOT used for smudging or any other practice from a closed religion. It’s used for representing the element of Air during spirit work. 
- If anyone has questions about any of the items, I’m happy to answer. I scrounged most of it, or received things as gifts. 

THE VISION OF ST. JOHN THE EVANGELIST: THE APOCALYPTIC WOMAN, DETAIL OF THE WORK-DAY SIDE OF AN ALTAR WING FROM SZENTBENEDEK (TODAY MĂNĂSTIREA, ROMANIA)

1520

MNG

Poem to Hekate

Magnificent Forests call Her into curled roots
protected by gleaming snails and spirit smoke

The darkness becomes the graveyard for unearthing
a toadstone, a wolf tooth, a black pelt- jewels unsurpassed

Like twilight flickering lights across teeth and gristle,
She glides unannounced, She opens her cloak

A shiver is felt on the land, a wrenching, a receiving
Feathers from the angel’s wing fall sweeping

The altar is dressed with black bones, thunder helmets, 
red wax and tarnished golden charms- snake skin and howling wolves burn

The windy crossroads are full of sandstorms, no trees, no green,
only stones that have seen the black horses riding fast

She has no eyes, and yet Her fingers are deep within the cosmic web
Throughout time She hears the magical words that we utter, 
She inhales the scented smoke of our offerings

I will meet you in the dreamscape, at the gateway
full of black obsidian eyes watching and smoky mirrors, skeleton keys and blazing copper torches

Escape with  your skin, escape while you still can 
Denying Death as your escort- embodying the medicine of the red snake
With one foot in the underworld and one foot in the wild wood

Lady of the night bring us your hoarse whispers and ancient songs,
Like deer bones tapping and clicking, calling the dead, calling winter home

Author: Corinne Boyer