Firstly, I make offerings because the Gods and the Ancestors are deserving of praise. Everything I am, everything I value, cherish, and deem beautiful comes from the blessings of my Elder Kin. I am almost ridiculously privileged: though born with a severe physical disability, I live in a time and place where I can get medical care, when my existence is not automatically counted a burden on society, when I am counted as a full citizen.
Not long ago, I might have been sterilized without anyone questioning the ethics of it. Not long ago, it was not a given that a child with a physical disability would rceeive a basic education, much less be allowed to pursue a degree, to experience cultural learning, to travel freely, to live in my own place. Every breath is a blessing when there are still places were infants with my degree of physical deformity are deemed soulless and left to die. It's not a question of thanking my Elder Kin, it's more, 'when do I stop?'
That doesn't mean I'm not constantly second-guessing myself. In the religion of my childhood, it was easy: show up for services, speak when cued, stand up, sit down, pray. Being a polytheist is hard work. Breaking a lifetime of habits, learning new ways, a new-to-me way of thinking and perception while still meeting the demands of my mundane life is tough.
"Am I doing this right? Is this a suitable offering? Am I really being present during this devotion, or am I doing something slapdash so I can say I've done my devotions?".
But making offerings isn't about me. It's Their due.
So how do I make my offerings?
In contrast to what I read elsewhere, I rarely give my own food and drink to the Elder Kin. They seem to appreciate it when I make something just for Them.
My nisse gets oatmeal, with milk, sugar (raw sugar), flaxseed, and a sprinkle of nuts when I have them. I speak her name, wish her a good morning in Danish, and set out the offering.
The Ancestors often get tea, my favorite brand, but prepared differently. While I'll put non-dairy creamer and artificial sweetener in mine, the cup I put on the harrow has real sugar. When I offer water, I add a pinch of (raw) sugar. (Type 1 diabetes was rampant in my family, and the cause of death for many immediate relatives.) It takes a great deal for the Dead to reach out and touch us in the living world. The extra time to make Them a bowl of porridge, brew tea a certain way, is an acknowledgement of Their efforts on my behalf.
Disposal of the offerings can be problematic for those like me who live in an urban area, or whose leases and/or nosy neighbors make the traditional ways almost impossible. This is how I do it:
Food offerings are wrapped up in a natural, biodegradable material. It's important that the material be something that could not be reused, so that leaves out anything plastic and foil. I've used waxed paper, parchment for cooking, and even cupcake wrappers. The food is carefully wrapped to form packets, and disposed of normally, with the words, "I pray you found my offering worthy."
Liquids are a little easier. If the offering wasn't water, I take the vessel to a clean sink. I sprinkle sea salt into the sink, then pour out the vessel while speaking words of thanks. I then run very hot water for thirty seconds, and add another pinch of sea salt. Water, even sugared water, can be poured out on the ground.
Service offerings are a big part of my devotions. I regularly pick up trash when I'm out walking, murmuring apologies to Mother Jord and asking Her forgiveness for the careless disregard of Her bounty. I write poetry, striving to learn new poetic forms, and craft adorations.
There have been times when I have burned my art or poems to the Elder Kin, using a fireproof pot set between two incense sticks. So many things can be offerings--money to causes that reflect Their sphere of influence, donations of materials, or time spent in reflection and prayer. T
Not long ago, I might have been sterilized without anyone questioning the ethics of it. Not long ago, it was not a given that a child with a physical disability would rceeive a basic education, much less be allowed to pursue a degree, to experience cultural learning, to travel freely, to live in my own place. Every breath is a blessing when there are still places were infants with my degree of physical deformity are deemed soulless and left to die. It's not a question of thanking my Elder Kin, it's more, 'when do I stop?'
That doesn't mean I'm not constantly second-guessing myself. In the religion of my childhood, it was easy: show up for services, speak when cued, stand up, sit down, pray. Being a polytheist is hard work. Breaking a lifetime of habits, learning new ways, a new-to-me way of thinking and perception while still meeting the demands of my mundane life is tough.
"Am I doing this right? Is this a suitable offering? Am I really being present during this devotion, or am I doing something slapdash so I can say I've done my devotions?".
But making offerings isn't about me. It's Their due.
So how do I make my offerings?
In contrast to what I read elsewhere, I rarely give my own food and drink to the Elder Kin. They seem to appreciate it when I make something just for Them.
My nisse gets oatmeal, with milk, sugar (raw sugar), flaxseed, and a sprinkle of nuts when I have them. I speak her name, wish her a good morning in Danish, and set out the offering.
The Ancestors often get tea, my favorite brand, but prepared differently. While I'll put non-dairy creamer and artificial sweetener in mine, the cup I put on the harrow has real sugar. When I offer water, I add a pinch of (raw) sugar. (Type 1 diabetes was rampant in my family, and the cause of death for many immediate relatives.) It takes a great deal for the Dead to reach out and touch us in the living world. The extra time to make Them a bowl of porridge, brew tea a certain way, is an acknowledgement of Their efforts on my behalf.
Disposal of the offerings can be problematic for those like me who live in an urban area, or whose leases and/or nosy neighbors make the traditional ways almost impossible. This is how I do it:
Food offerings are wrapped up in a natural, biodegradable material. It's important that the material be something that could not be reused, so that leaves out anything plastic and foil. I've used waxed paper, parchment for cooking, and even cupcake wrappers. The food is carefully wrapped to form packets, and disposed of normally, with the words, "I pray you found my offering worthy."
Liquids are a little easier. If the offering wasn't water, I take the vessel to a clean sink. I sprinkle sea salt into the sink, then pour out the vessel while speaking words of thanks. I then run very hot water for thirty seconds, and add another pinch of sea salt. Water, even sugared water, can be poured out on the ground.
Service offerings are a big part of my devotions. I regularly pick up trash when I'm out walking, murmuring apologies to Mother Jord and asking Her forgiveness for the careless disregard of Her bounty. I write poetry, striving to learn new poetic forms, and craft adorations.
There have been times when I have burned my art or poems to the Elder Kin, using a fireproof pot set between two incense sticks. So many things can be offerings--money to causes that reflect Their sphere of influence, donations of materials, or time spent in reflection and prayer. T