The Making of Offerings

One of the oldest items on my ancestor altar is a bronze statue of Kuan Yin, the goddess of compassion. I adopted her as a spiritual mentor when I was unraveling my inner anger ball. I used compassion and kindness as mindful tools towards changing the way I responded to the world around me. The bodhisattva visual was a beacon of hope for me.

I use deity in my pagan work. I am a big believer in mythology as useful metaphors of ideals we strive towards. If I stumble across a mythology that speaks to the simple or complex characteristics of Work I am doing, I may choose to walk with the mythos of that deity.

With Kuan Yin, as a dedication to my spiritual faith, I string a small beaded necklace at the start of each new year and drape it around her neck. I consider it an offering to the spirit of her story that is diluted down into acts of compassion and kindness. I offer it as a gratitude for the guidance her stories have gifted me.

It doesn’t mean I think that Kuan Yin walks the earth or watches over me. I don’t believe that when lightning strikes Zeus is hurling his thunderbolts (though it’s a great story). When I leave out food offerings for the dead, I don’t believe they come and eat it. But I know that hungry animals are being fed in their honor.

These small offerings mark the years I have been on this path. Each layer displays the time that has passed since I started this Work. Over time, the notion of making offerings as a sign of gratitude and dedication became a heavy part of my spiritual life.

Offerings are good ways to bring attention to something I see as sacred that others might not. A marigold wreath left around the knob of a tree. A mandala of birdseed and corn left in a forest glade. Peanuts piled like cairns on logs and in knotholes. Natural fiber ribbons and yarns left loose on branches to pull the eye, precious resources for nests and burrows.

I decorate Kuan Yin to show that she is not just a statue. She is an altar, a space of Work that changes as I transform, as my Work alters. When I go to the woods, I leave offerings because I am grateful to have wilds to walk in, and in my gratitude, I offer nourishment to the animals that live there. It keeps me mindful. It keeps me present in my gratitude, offering me a better way to experience the world.