An altar can be where lovable things and unlovable things can go; as offerings. A letter that landed as lead in the heart, books and papers which represent an upset, a shell collected on a walk, a photo of a person in need. Tonight I put some items on the altar, lit some incense and made bows. Tonight I also remember Wayne who took his own life.
It’s interesting about Wayne. Jim (not his actual name) had kept Wayne from shooting himself and bailed him out of trouble enumerable times but in the end Wayne could not be stopped, he shot himself. And his good friend stopped shaving, face hairs were neither cut nor trimmed.
About two years latter, for pressing practical reasons, Jim’s beard and moustache were shaved off. Their removal brought up strong memories of Wayne. Anger at what he’d done, grief too. Yes, that was a grieving beard and now it is on the altar.
There is nothing that can’t be put on the altar of ones heart, or carried until the time is right to shave it off.