There are a couple of things that keep me sane in this capricious world: books, strawberry-cheesecake ice cream, and devotion. It’s nothing but natural that, upon hearing solemn words such as devotion or sacred or holy, our minds drift to a corner of our memories where dust motes dance in stained-glass light. Maybe alongside soaring arches, the smell of burning incense, and voices of prayer mingling with chants.

But by Merriam-Webster's definition, devotion is not only a religious exercise or practice, but also the act of dedicating something to a cause; the fact or state of being ardently loyal. And I’m sure that’s what saves me every day - choosing to place my faith in things larger than myself, yet most times just as human.

On the top shelf of a second-hand stand in my bedroom, I almost accidentally built an altar. To the divine, to myself, and to friendship. I started by placing only one thing upon it: a dragon-shaped incense burner, which a better version of me bought ages ago at a Japanese fair.

Besides using it every other night to burn incense (a long-acquired practice in a pagan household), I use it to remember the bold, fierce, and infinitely wise 15-year-old who dreamt of becoming… me, but also so much more.

A little while later, a handmade gift from my best friend took on the quiet role of keeping the dragon company. Then, a whisker from my cat: her own kind of gift, kept in a glass jar. My journal. Tokens my students left on my desk. Used-up lucky charms and spent protection amulets. A small yellow Volkswagen Kombi keychain, my unofficial godson got me before I went on a trip abroad. And, before I could understand what I was doing, there it was: my sacred corner of the world. My devotion, given form.

Cat whiskers in a glass jar from Cristye’s personal altar

Now I understand that it’s as much about the feeling I get when I walk up to it and remember the moments each object carries as it is about any spirituality tied to it. One quietly becomes the other. Because it didn’t look like a traditional altar, with saints, candles, and offerings, it took me a while to recognize it. Yet, all along, I had been sending prayers - to friendship, to continuity, to the invisible threads and lives that brush against mine and leave something behind.

And maybe you, too, have been revering what moves and sustains you, without fully realizing it.

Okay, but what is an altar?

Simply put, an altar is a focal point of your spirituality and maybe a reflection of your most whimsical self. To create that, we can use a physical object or a set of objects placed in a purposeful place. It doesn’t always have to be tied to religion or a god, though it can be.

To be clear upfront: we're not devoting ourselves to the objects themselves. They are representations of what we love and revere – a goddess we commune with, a long-lost feeling, maybe even silence.

You might already have one tucked into your daily life, just as I did before I noticed it.

An altar can be as simple as a lone stone or a flickering candle, quietly guiding your focus as you slip into meditation. Around it, you might find a vase of fresh flowers, a pitcher of water or juice, or even a salt and pepper shaker. Each object becomes meaningful through the intention and energy you offer.

Why do people have altars?

Turning an ordinary corner of your home or office into a sacred space for intimate connection with spirit is a long-held tradition among many cultures and spiritual paths.

Altars in Indian puja corners, for instance, serve as a bridge between home and the divine; a physical space where the sacred is invited into everyday life. Central to this tradition is the belief that the divine is not distant or abstract, and it can be present in tangible ways through images, idols (murtis), symbols, and ritual. The altar becomes a “seat” for that presence, where offerings, prayers, and daily acts of devotion take place.

Photo courtesy of Aishwarya Interiors

Mexican ofrendas, on the other hand, have both spiritual and deeply human reasons: they create a dedicated space to welcome the dead back into the world of the living. During Día de los Muertos, it is believed that the souls of loved ones return for a day. The altar isn’t just symbolic; it’s a meeting point, carefully prepared with photographs, food, and personal objects so they can find their way home.

Photo courtesy of Deb Leal

In pagan practices, an altar can serve many purposes. It may be a place for rituals. It can be a space devoted to one deity or many. It can be a way to focus intentions on spiritual goals. Or it can be simply an artistic or creative expression of personal belief. They are often multiple things at once. Sometimes none of these.

We also create altars for many different moments, whether we know it or not. Baby showers often gather gifts around a central point. The Christmas tree takes over living rooms in winter (originally rooted in pre-Christian winter solstice traditions, later incorporated into Christian practice), decorated with symbols of joy and prosperity. Birthday cakes, lit with small candles, quietly hold wishes for longevity and celebration. Becoming more aware of these spaces, or more intentional about them, can deepen our experience of them.

At its core, an altar is a place to pause: to pray, meditate, focus, or perform ritual. It offers a brief refuge from the noise of daily life. It’s a small, chosen ground where attention sharpens and meaning gathers. Whether your practice is daily or occasional, an altar helps hold it and makes it feel real.

Your altar is yours to define

Objects from Cristye’s altar

As someone who’s had her share of dark days — dark seasons, even — I’ve learned that having a relationship with something larger than yourself can sometimes be the only lifeline in an ocean that just continues and continues and continues in every direction you look. You might think you don’t have one yet, but it could already be there, just as it was for me.

And once I recognized it, I began to honor it. I lit candles, slipped handwritten prayers between cherished objects for weeks on end, then returned to it for hushed rituals. Each moment unfolded among keepsakes of friendship, tokens of love, and subtle reminders of who I once was.

Which is to say: nothing had to be built. Only noticed. And, perhaps, acknowledged as sacred.

So you can follow a tradition. You can mix many of them. You can create your own and color it with your own muses.

As long as you find what is worthy of your devotion and choose to place your faith in it, again and again.

Banner image courtesy of Lisa Hassett

Cristye Tesche is a half-Brazilian, half-German writer and journalist. She was raised in a predominantly female, pagan household; her mother worked with herbs and rituals, her aunt was Wiccan, and her grandmother passed down small rituals, charms, and folk remedies as casually as family recipes. They would gather around the kitchen table and pull tarot cards, brew healing teas, and talk through the dreams that lingered long enough to demand interpretation.

Today, Cristye weaves Afro-Brazilian rites and belief systems into her practice, without ever quite letting go of what her upbringing gave her. Instead, she gathers each fragment — of lineage, of practice, of memory and reinvention — and assembles, day by day, her own mosaic of faith: part inherited, part chosen, part something she is still learning how to name.

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An altar is a focal point of your spirituality and maybe a reflection of your most whimsical self.

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