Venerating Our Queer Ancestors: Working With A Queer Ancestor Shrine

This article appeared in the Solar Harvest 2020 issue of CoffeeTable Coven.

Centering A Practice Of Ancestor Veneration

In Part One of ‘Venerating Our Queer Ancestors’ I talked about how my journeys around my sexuality and spirituality, things I thought to be very separate, were in reality incredibly intertwined. The political landscape of the last several years forced me to reckon with LGBTQ+ community trauma and how it impacted me. I was driven to learn more about the history of my community at a time when I found myself returning to a magical spirituality and reconnecting with practices I had not engaged in for some time. The stories I learned about openly queer-identified activists and folk who did not conform to the expected gender roles of their time began to creep into the rituals I found myself constructing for strength and guidance. 

I am an academic at heart and had come across examples of ancestor worship or veneration in various paths or practices, but never felt drawn to it. It also took a long time for me to break apart the notion of what an “ancestor” could be. For a long time I felt the only way I could truly engage in some sort of ancestral practice would be to learn more about my own family and “blood ancestors” and, to be honest, there wasn’t much that I felt inclined to connect to. As I learned more about LGBTQ+ history I began to see echoes of my life and the struggles of our modern day community written across time. I would read autobiographies or listen to podcasts about queer life pre-Stonewall and a part of me that I can’t quite put into words would resonate with these stories. 

It reached a point where I was writing up rituals for activism or advocacy or protection and found myself name-dropping folks I had researched. Was I working to elevate the voices of my community in politics? May we follow in the footsteps of Bayard Rustin and Harvey Milk and speak truth to power, fighting for our community in the halls of government. Was I trying to find the strength to stand in a counter-protest knowing I was more likely to be arrested than the neo-Nazis I was standing against? I may be afraid, but so was Marsha. So was Sylvia. Fear cannot silence us. 

One day it became apparent to me how much working with Queer Ancestors had become a central part of my spiritual practice. I sat with this realization and decided I wanted to formalize this relationship. 

I decided to build a shrine. 

Constructing My Queer Ancestor Shrine

My shrine is simple. It is a ceramic basin, sitting atop four bricks placed on top of paving stones. Embedded in the ground in front of the basin is a small clay pot filled with sand and gravel, and this is where I burn incense. Behind the basin I’ve hung an LGBTQ+ Pride flag. To one side hangs a small wind chime. I’ve filled the basin with flowers, including dwarf irises, and scattered multi-colored glass stones atop the soil. 

This is not how my shrine started. In fact, this is the third version of my shrine. 

The vision I first had was centered around water. I wanted a pool of water with a fountain, with rainbow-colored stones at the bottom. I wanted the Pride flag to be reflected on its surface. It was going to be amazing!

I set about collecting all of the materials I would need: a ceramic basin, a plug and caulk, rainbow-colored stones, a small solar-powered fountain I ordered online, and a Pride flag for my yard. The basin I purchased is designed to be a planter and has a hole at the bottom to allow drainage, so I spent a weekend sealing it up with a plug and caulk. After testing to make sure there were no leaks I placed the basin in a sunny spot and filled it with water. 

I spent an afternoon in meditation with this basin. I cleared the soil around it and planted new flowers. I added the stones, reflecting on the meaning of the colors of the LGBTQ+ Pride flag:

Red, for Life

Orange, for Healing

Yellow, for Sunlight

Green, for Nature

Blue, for Serenity

Purple, for Spirit

I installed the Pride flag to hang behind the basin. And, finally, I burnt incense while speaking out to the Queer Ancestors. I told them how important their stories were to me. I told them how they inspire me and give me strength. I told them I built this shrine to honor them and as a symbol of my commitment to continuing their work - to live loudly, to love proudly, and to protect and uplift our community. I don’t recall the exact words I said but I remember at first being unsure what, if anything, I should say. But as I started speaking the words just started to flow. 

I left the incense burning in a small dish (I had yet to add the embedded pot) and went back inside. I had no idea what to expect since I had never built a shrine before, and what resulted was one of the most visceral spiritual experiences I’ve ever had in my practice. 

Over the course of the next hour or so the pressure inside our house seemed to increase. The best way I can describe it is like changing elevation, that sensation you get when your ears need to “pop” but they don’t. At first I wrote it off as my body just doing something weird, but then my husband turned to me and asked “Hey, do you feel that? Do your ears need to pop? What did you do?” Having that outside validation of this experience finally prompted me to check in with this “pressure” and the immediate response was the feeling of being watched by something much, much bigger than myself. 

Okay, we heard you. We see you. We’re here.

The first version of my Queer Ancestor Shrine lasted for a few months. What I had failed to take into consideration was the conditions of my yard and where I placed the shrine. As the trees filled out less light reached the basin, which meant the solar-powered fountain was not exactly operable. The water in the basin stagnated, mildew grew across the stones, and it became a breeding ground for bugs. Just standing around this shrine I could feel how it wasn’t working, I definitely wasn’t happy with it and I could sense it wasn’t really a welcoming place for any ancestral spirits who may have been interested in stopping by. 

The second version of the shrine moved away from a water-based shrine and towards one that focused on beauty and life and growth. I worked to unseal the plug I created in the basin and decided to use it for its original purpose as a planter. I chose irises because of their relationship to concepts like faith and wisdom, and because of their association with the Greek goddess Iris who was the personification of the rainbow and a link between the heavens and earth. I salvaged what rainbow-colored stones I could and scattered them among the flowers. I also embedded a clay pot in front of the basin, and filled it with sand and gravel to have a safer spot to burn incense. 

This version would be the one to teach me the importance of committing yourself to shrine-tending, and how much of your own self you put into your creation. 

At some point after updating the shrine I began to feel like I was struggling in every aspect of my life. When I looked at things objectively I could see that was not the case, and yet this felt different from the episodes of depression and anxiety I had experienced since my early twenties. I felt like I was drowning, like I couldn’t breathe. After finally deciding to journey about it I was directed to check in with the Queer Ancestors. I realized I had neglected the shrine for some time and when I went out back I discovered the entire basin was waterlogged. I had unplugged the hole but the basin was resting directly on the soil - on predominantly clay-based soil that was itself saturated from the recent rains. 

I was dumbstruck. I felt like I was drowning because my shrine was flooded! It hit me then that, in a very real sense, part of me was drowning. This shrine was created to be a representation of my relationship with the Queer Ancestors. Tending to it was just as much an act of self-care as it was an act of respect for my ancestral community. Neglecting it would not just negatively impact my relationship with the Queer Ancestors it would also have a negative impact on my own spiritual wellbeing, which I was feeling in that moment as “drowning”. 

That brings us to the third, and to date final, version of my Queer Ancestor shrine. I constructed a hollow pedestal from four bricks to allow for better drainage by elevating the basin. The final addition was a small wind chime. 

Working With My Queer Ancestor Shrine

My Queer Ancestor shrine has become the centerpiece of a lot of my work. At least once a week I burn incense at the shrine. This is just an offering, a way for me to give thanks to the presence of the Queer Ancestors in my life. As it becomes warmer out and the flowers begin to grow and bloom I also tend to the shrine every weekend. I trim dead flowers and leaves. I clear out other leaves that may have fallen into the basin. I sweep the dust and dirt off of the paving stones. I weed around the shrine itself and trim back any plants that have crept too close. 

These small acts of devotion and care have helped to reinforce my relationship with the Queer Ancestors. It is important to me that I acknowledge their presence and impact on my life in a way that doesn’t just feel like I’m asking them for something. Making sure the shrine is well-cared for and clean not only helps with my own energetic hygiene, it also just seems like the polite thing to do. I built a space for the Queer Ancestors and asked them to visit it, to inhabit it, so I could be closer with them. It would be rude and offensive of me to let it become disheveled. 

There are a few ways I have intentionally incorporated the Queer Ancestor shrine into my work:

Healing

Both my husband and I have used the shrine as a source of mental/emotional/spiritual healing and rejuvenation. One simple way we do this is by lighting incense at the shrine and telling the Queer Ancestors about our struggles. I’ve often felt like the smoke from the incense helps take whatever may be troubling me out of my physical being and transforms it in a way that allows my ancestral community to help shoulder the burden. 

The shrine has also worked as a focal point to allow the Queer Ancestors to intercede and reorient my perspective. The example I have for this is actually not my own, and instead is a recent experience of my husband. A few weeks ago he received some bad, but not unexpected news, that left him feeling out of sorts. I suggested he try “taking it to the shrine” so he grabbed some incense and went out back. I checked in with him a while later and he shared as he sat with the shrine he just began feeling angry. At first he was confused and surprised and then realized he actually was angry about the situation he found himself in. He was trying to center the needs and feelings of others but the message he received from the Queer Ancestors at the shrine was “You’re angry. Feel angry. You need to let yourself feel this.” 

Advocacy

I frequently use the shrine as a focal point for rituals around advocacy and activism related to any marginalized community, not just the LGBTQ+ community. Our community is expansive and intersects with so many other oppressed groups - the poor and impoverished, refugees, people of color, etc. Over the last year I’ve made it a point to visit the shrine before I engage in some form of advocacy or activism to ask for strength, guidance, wisdom, or protection. 

I’ve burnt incense at the shrine before attending a counter-protest to let the Queer Ancestors know I was scared, and to ask them to help me show up in that space despite being afraid. The night before I have a meeting with someone in a position of power in my community to advocate for additional resources for vulnerable communities I’ve gone to the shrine to ask for inspiration, to be able to find the right words to say to convince the right people to side with me. 

I’ve also used the shrine as a focal point in rituals to bolster the work of other activists and advocates. I’m not able to make it to every demonstration - either because of location, finances, or health - but I try to make it a point to ask the Queer Ancestors to help empower others who are continuing their work. If I know the time a demonstration is going to start I will burn incense, or leave an offering of food and drink, at the shrine when the demonstration starts. 

Protection 

I do use the shrine to ask the Queer Ancestors to watch over me, my husband, and our home. For a number of these ancestors the fact that I can live openly as a married gay man, own a house with my husband, and be an accepted part of my neighborhood community is the realization of their tireless work. To live my life openly, to love fearlessly, is to honor their dream. As we know all too well, however, the reality is we continue to occupy a world where those with access to power would rather I were not so open, would rather I was ashamed of who I was, and who feel like the legal and moral recognition of my marriage is something worthy of retaliatory violence. 

I often let the Queer Ancestors know that I am afraid. I often ask them to watch over me and my husband. I often ask them to help us protect the home we have built together. 

I have left stones and bracelets at the shrine and asked the Queer Ancestors to imbue them with their love and protection, so that we can take that energy into the world with us. When I ask them for favors like this I will give them something more than just incense - sometimes I leave an offering of alcohol, and sometimes I share a cigar with them by blowing smoke over the shrine. 

Constructing Your Own Queer Ancestor Shrine

Earlier I shared my journey in constructing a Queer Ancestor shrine. I wanted to end with some words about constructing your own. I live in a suburban area and have a private backyard, and this affords me the option of having my own personal outdoor shrine. Some folks may live in more urban areas without a yard, or may live in a home where having a public outdoor shrine may not be well-received. Other folks may not currently be in a static living situation - perhaps you are moving around a lot for work or school. Regardless of your situation I want you to know it is entirely feasible for you to construct and maintain your own Queer Ancestor shrine!

Here are just a few examples of different types of shrines you can construct:

• Repurposing a small candy tin (like for Altoids) by painting it with images or colors associated with the LGBTQ+ community. You can fill the inside of the tin with pictures or names of LGBTQ+ figures that inspire you. Use small birthday cake candles or an electric tea light as an offering at this miniature shrine. 

• Find a small potted plant that has special meaning for you. Decorate the pot with symbols or images that represent the LGBTQ+ community. Tend to this plant as an act of respect and devotion for the Queer Ancestors. 

• Find a tree in your yard that you feel comfortable turning into a sacred space for your work with the Queer Ancestors. Decorate the tree with rainbow-colored ribbons that represent the colors from the LGBTQ+ Pride flag. Sit under the branches in meditation to connect with your ancestral community. 

My personal shrine began with a lofty idea of some picturesque fountain which obviously didn’t pan out. I ended up with an overall simple planter with a few embellishments that help create a space that I feel is sacred. At the end of all of this the most important thing is to create something that represents your connection to our ancestral community, and that you can treat with a sense of reverence and respect.