The Shrine

In my new home are two somewhat awkwardly placed cabinets, whose doors open from the inside out toward you. I’ve made them into shrines for my gods. Andred prefers, by and large, Her doors to be left open so that Her essence may seep in and act as a protective force and sort of like a home deity (though I recognize well enough She is much more than that). My mother closes the doors. She did it once when I was away, and then another time I watched her do it right in front of my face, like it was nothing.

While Andred respects that I don’t want this to happen, it points to my mother’s disrespect for sacred spaces from religions that aren’t hers. Which is to say, if it isn’t some flavor of Christian, she doesn’t agree with it. She treats it like it’s a quaint little thing that I’ve done that I might one day grow out of with the right “guidance”, or I might just…come to realize one day that I should be on the Path of Christ…or something. This isn’t the first time or way she’s mocked my practice. She mocks spells, Yule (doesn’t seem to know the other holidays exist), and so many other things, yet has made it abundantly clear to me that she still holds to Christian stances on so many things (such as homosexuality, “a sin”).

Andred seems Endlessly Patient now, but I wouldn’t be shocked to hear one day that my family’s couple acres or so is absolutely covered in rabbits. In fact, I’d laugh my ass off.

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