The Heart of the Spirit

It was early 1989, and I was visiting a friend who had AIDS. I was holding his hand, something we weren’t sure yet that it was okay to do. This was before the cocktails were available and a diagnosis of HIV/AIDS meant that you didn't have much time left so how could I not hold his hand?

He was a member of a politically active organization, ACT UP, who carried out non-violent, daily acts of acts of civil disobedience to bring attention to the virus. From what I understood at the time, they believed that AZT, the only medication we had to stem HIV, was ineffective or even harmful. My friend had played an active role in the organization, but when he got AIDS and had to face his own mortality, he felt torn between two belief systems:

Take the drug and hopefully live a little longer.

Or don't take the drug and see what happens.

He told me he was tortured by this conundrum as he held up a bottle of AZT pills that he had been prescribed. He knew that death was right around the corner. “I want to take them, I want more time, but I’m afraid.”

“I have a idea,“ I said. I went home and returned with a wooden Buddha sitting in lotus position, several crystals, an intricately beaded eagle feather and some sage. I lay them down on a table top, I lit a candle and burned the sage. I placed the pills in the Buddha’s lap and I asked my friend to sit and breathe. “This is an altar to find a connection to the spiritual world,” I said. ”Look at the pills and imagine they’re a gift from God. If you decide to take one, feel light going down your throat.” 

He did what I suggested and he told me the air around the Buddha felt cool and clear. His anxiety eased and he took the medicine every day. When he passed away, he had bought six more months and although nothing could stop the killer virus at that point, he had been comforted by his decision. After he was gone, I retrieved the objects and arranged them in someone else’s home, creating a place where they could face their fear and anxiety, slow down their breathing and imagine light instead of darkness.

Creating an altar, a place of peace where you can recharge, is a powerful thing to do. It doesn't have to be large and ostentatious. You don't have to go out and buy expensive statues and rare feathers and crystals. Use what’s in your home. In my office where I write, I have a snow globe of the World Trade Center before the attack, a photo of my mother, a heart shaped amethyst crystal given to me by a friend years ago and a photo of Pema Chodron, a Buddhist nun whose teachings guide me spiritually. Since the main elements on this planet are earth, wind, fire and water, I add a bowl of water to make sure my prayers go out in the four directions. Each day when I come into my office, my altar reminds me to stay centered and face my fear.

In Vietnam and some other Asian countries, when someone dies, the family buries their loved one and takes an object of theirs, to give them a space on the altar. Each time they enter the house, before they do anything, they place a piece of fruit on the altar to feed the spirit, they light candles and they offer a blessing. In this way, they pay tribute to all who came before and help them rest in peace. When I was writing a book for a Vietnamese woman, she told me that during the war, among other forms of suffering, they ceaselessly searched for the bodies of the deceased to perform the appropriate rituals so their spirits would not wander aimlessly. 

Here in the west, we build altars as an outward representation of our inner attunement. When we stop running and sit quietly, we feel our breath slowing down and our mind begins to rest. Imagine a monkey in the jungle, hanging by its long hairy arms, flitting from branch to branch, only settling when it finds something that stops it. Sitting and breathing at your altar can help you stop and let go of the branches to find your center and quiet your mind.

Buddhists believe that an altar is the heart of the home as it generates a sense of stability and security. When you feel angry or judgmental toward yourself or somone else, when your mind refuses to settle down and takes you on a bad ride, sometimes all you need to do is get off the bumpy road and slow down. Sit in front of your altar and breathe in and breathe out. We’ve been doing this since we were born, we'll keep doing until we leave this planet, so the simple act of becoming aware of it can calm your mind and feed your heart.

While altars are often associated with religion, they can also be secular. They can be a way of honoring ourselves, a thing of beauty where you can add and subtract whatever you want. There are no correct ways to embellish them, there are no correct amounts of time to use them and there are no correct places to put them. Your study. Your bedroom. Out in the garden. Five minutes. Fifteen minutes. An hour. Wherever and whenever you feel drawn to sit and breathe. I have small ones all over my home, arrangements of sacred objects that remind me to stop and breathe and treat myself with compassion at all times.