#Veneration of the Dead

[espiritista-de-luz]

The "Capuchin Crypt" under the church of Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini in Rome.

#folk catholicism #holy dead #veneration of the dead #memento mori

[decamarks]

“Suddenly, there was a light As brilliant as the Lord himself, Ushering me from the darkness With mighty arms that held me As I have never known”

#my art #ultrakill #gabriel ultrakill #v1 ultrakill #THIS GAME IS VERY FUN i love this guy. i am dreading p-ranking his 2nd fight. #anyway i like the idea of gabriel seeing v1 as a 'savior' of sorts. angels are essentially programmed for service and worship alone #so after realizing he literally has nothing left to serve it makes sense that gabriel would choose to venerate v1 instead. #but like. as far as we know v1 is still just a mindless murder robot. it's simply operating by the design of its long-dead creators #which makes gabriel's burning ecstatic reverence of it really funny. #lot of fun parallels to draw between gabriel and v1... entities obligated to serve something that died a long long time ago

[saintmachina]

folk music makes me go feral. you’re telling me that I’m singing along to songs that have been circulating among commonfolk and kings alike for hundreds of years, set to tunes that are hundreds of years older than that? you’re telling me these ballads have outlived empires and revolutions? you’re telling me this reel could have been played to entertain my ancestors while they spun wool by the fire? absolutely bonkers stuff.

#i am once again thinking about the unquiet grave #it supposedly goes back to 1400 but we just don't know because it's that old! #and even if it isnt that old it's still a remnant of a dozen earlier eras #a thin golden thread that connects us to the dead #ancestor veneration #riddles wisely expounded #folk music #celtic music

[queer-book-character-tournament]

Character, book, and author names under the cut

Nico Ferrer De Varona- The Atlas Six by Olivie Blake

Will Kempen- Dark Rise Series by C.S. Pacat

Yin Hanjiang- Devil Venerable Also Wants To Know by Cyan Wings

Thara Celehar- The Witness for the Dead by Katherine Addison

#Nico Ferrer De Varona #The Atlas Six #Olivie Blake #Will Kempen #Dark Rise Series #Dark Rise #Dark Heir #C.S. Pacat #Yin Hanjiang #Devil Venerable Also Wants To Know #dvawtk #Cyan Wings #Thara Celehar #The Witness for the Dead #twftd #the goblin emperor #the grief of stones #the cemeteries of amalo #Katherine Addison #lgbt books #polls #queer book character tournament 2.0

[gilly-tamar-w1tch]

Samhain is approaching and the veil is thinning. It’s the time to connect with the ancestors and collective dead. It’s the time to practise scrying or divination.

For your altar, decorate with natural things from your areas to honour the local land spirits and dead. Fallen leaves, acorns etc. carve or decorate a pumpkin for your altar or windowsill. Gather some local grave yard dirt for your altar if permission is given by the graveyard grim.

Practice divination with any tool you are drawn to. Traditionally it’s a time of scrying and all you need is a dark colour bowl filled with water and a darkened room lit only by candlelight (ensuring candles are not near anything flammable and secure in holders). The water you gaze into should be reflected by candlelight, soften your gaze as you look into your scrying bowl, it does take time and practice but stick with it and keep a note book close by for journaling.

You can also practice your tarot technique as well. Do a reading for yourself or even for the energy of the season. Maybe gather some friends together and do a group reading too.

Honour your ancestors by placing photos of passed loved ones on an altar for the ancestors. You could also add graveyard dirt,found animal bones, herbs associated with the dead etc and can be as simple or as fancy as you like. You can even offer the ancestors an offering. I often do one of incense, candle light and blessed water. I often do this around the dark moon and say the following to them during my offerings

On my ancestor altar (above) I have my late husband, my father and grandparents, aunts and uncles and even a passed beloved pet cat!

I give my offerings and say my words which I share with you here.

“Ancestors, I call to you now to be here with me now and always. Accept these offerings with the love they are given. I offer you Earth the grounding element to secure, I offer you water, the spiritual pure element. I offer you incense the air element for communication. I offer you a candle, the fire element for light and warmth. Ancestors accept these simple offerings in love and remembrance. Beloved Ancestors feed on this earth, smoke, water and light to nourish and strengthen you. Blessed be”

You can tailor the words to suit you and your ancestors and doing this on Samhain and every dark moon helps to strengthen the bond.

#traditional witchcraft #witch #witch community #magick #witchcraft #ancestral witches #kitchen witch #green witch #samhain #halloween #ancestors #ancestor #ancestral veneration #honouring the ancestors #working with ancestors #day of the dead #dayofthedead #divination #water divination #happy halloweeeeeeen #witch craft #witches #witchblr

[vigilskeep]

if dragon age loved me the ancestor worship in nevarra combined with their use of crypts and the mortalitasi, and that a fake pentaghast was the only human ever recorded to join the legion of the dead, would demonstrate close ties between nevarran and dwarven culture

#life could be a dream #nevarra has ANCESTRAL PAGEANTS venerating their heroes like. come on. #they bury their dead!!! #not to mention those reavers in the provings and the dragon in the orzammar palace...

[vacantgodling]

💧 rain for the weather asks babey fuck me up

💧Rain - What's the most emotional scene you've ever written?

OHOOOOO we have so many contenders because i love writing sad shit—i got so many you could probably ask me this question several times and get a different answer LMAO. but honest to god i think sword of a great hero is my most painful excerpt because it’s just… the calm before the storm. lath and ensio both know they’re gonna die. and just UGHHHH.

since it seems that in haven’t posted this excerpt on this version of my blog have it in its entirety here and cry :)

##

“This will be our final stand.” Lath touched a hand to his chest. He could feel the sluggish bleeding from under the gash in his armor that lead to the gaping wound in his upper abdomen, just underneath his ribcage. There was no one to heal him now — hadn’t had anything like that since they started this death march — at this point his nerves were beyond the point of registering pain. The others who’d joined him were long dead now: either picked off or mauled, died with a fight gnashing in their teeth, or a whimper absolving from their throat. Only two of them from the initial 33 warriors remained, and somehow Lath always knew it would come to this.

Ensio stood astride him, his regal bow broken and long forgotten. Lath had given him his second sword to wield in its stead, and the grip was slightly off, and the blade shorter than he remembered Ensio liked, but it would do. Neither of them fought with the expectation to live. In the clearing where they stood, a large, curled structure rose, towering to almost the heavens above them and was teeming with magic so strong that Lath could practically smell it. The Labyrinth. The voice of Their Lady MUINENS boomed from the heavens. As your final stand, you will drive them to their dungeon.

“Aye.” Ensio’s usual baritone was a rough wheeze. If they’d had time to rest, to heal, Lath would’ve guessed it was a punctured lung. He’d taken a claw to the sternum hard in a battle days before, and had been wheezing since. Lath could not offer him any comforting hand… Ensio wouldn’t have wanted it either. But the two men stood beside one another, waiting for their cue

“What do you suppose Cerullius is like?” Ensio garnered to ask. Though he’d assured Lath it was fine that the grip was off — better him, the regular sword wielder, have the better blade after all — he was still fidgeting with his grip, whirling it between his fingers, like the drills they ran together as boys. “Do you think it’d be as warm and comforting as a fine pair of tits?”

“Even on your deathbed, you’re a lech.” Lath’s golden eyes scanned the horizon. It seemed fitting that they would die on the brink of a beautiful morning. That the land here was so wholly unfamiliar but was beautiful somehow. There were no trees or swamps or lakes around— only a large expanse of grassland and short, wiley flowers that had the audacity to bloom. If Lath were a more poetic man, he would pity them. Soon they would be covered with blood, and guts, and entrails, and stinking corpses, of beasts who refused to be herded, and the bodies of two Terraneans who dared to pretend they were shepherds.

“It’s not as though either of us would ever know.” Ensio mused, but not unkindly. “Your horrible habit of unblinking deterred so many.”

“Yet your horrible beard drove off more.” Lath quipped back and the rumble of a chuckle that left Ensio, even as he continued to bleed, made a quirk of a smirk tug at Lath’s lips.

“I would offer to let you experience it on my own chest, as a parting gift,” Ensio started. “But I’m afraid this armor is too hard to remove one handed.” Lath’s eyes flickered back from the horizon to his friend. His left arm still hung only barely in its socket enough to be a meager semblance of functional. If they had anything to cauterize it, Lath would’ve offered to cut it off for him— spare him the dead weight. But they didn’t. And Lath didn’t want to watch his friend bleed out. At least in the frenzy of battle, Ensio’s final cry would hopefully be the only thing he’d witness of it. He had stared death in the face since the day he was born, yet the thought of it cradling its welcoming hands around his closest friend wasn’t something Lath could reconcile with himself.

“Do you regret following me?” Lath asked suddenly. A wind had begun to pick up from the west and both men turned to face it. Though they could not yet hear it, Lath knew Ensio’s sharp, hawk brown eyes would’ve been able to pick out the first details of the beasts and monsters headed this way. He would see their horns, feathers, too wide jaws, inhuman structures and limbs. He would see them fleeing towards what would become their new sanctuary— or prison. The Labyrinth gleamed like a gem in the climbing morning light, with its two guards to usher in the onslaught. The creatures’s flight was brought on by their own gods, they both knew. And though neither men could see them, they’d had more proof than they had in their entire lives that those beings they worshipped were tangible. That they were there.

“The only thing that I regret is not having a roll in the sack just once before I died.”

“Be serious.”

Ensio turned to Lath. And as always, his eyes were dark with a wisdom Lath never claimed to understand, and never would, not as long as the two of them were alive. They turned soft with something like fondness. “I would rather die a hero by your side than waste away in Ubwyn, surrounded by every waking reminder of those I’ve failed.”

“You haven’t failed.” Lath couldn’t help but growl. Yet, Ensio went on calmly, unperturbed by his outburst.

“My mother died. My brothers, my sisters. We couldn’t bury them, we could only leave them behind. It’s not the little king’s fault, nor Zenith’s, nor yours. I just know my father will be heartbroken that he will only see me in Cerullius, not his love, nor the starlight’s that lit his life. If I die by you, Lath, maybe our journey to Cerullius won’t be so horrible. Maybe I can use this as penance for not guiding the rest of my family home.” He let out a shuddering breath—a wheeze. “It’s not a bad death, to die by my truest, dearest friend.” Lath could only hum. And as the shrieking and wailing of the beasts drew near, Lath let his hand over his wounded chest go limp, and he shuffled to Ensio, pulling the taller man into a tight, crushing hug. His armor plates cut Lath’s cheek, and the hug was far too tight for either of their aching ribs but it was important and needed and real. Ensio pulled back first.

“Our people will remember you, Lath. As the hero you were always meant to be. Even if you never received your Oracle’s Blessing, your valor is worth far more than that.”

“What was your Oracle’s Blessing En?” Lath couldn’t help but ask. It wasn’t a secret commonly shared but he suddenly felt that he needed to know. Ensio’s tired lips quirked into a bemused smile.

“To play the sword of a great hero.”

#IM NOT NORMAL ABOUT THEM YOUR HONOR #IM NOT FUCKING NORMAL #technically even though they do die: lath is venerated to a guardian and ensio becomes his sword #(but can still take a humanoid form and has consciousness etc) #so like they aren’t Dead Forever but #idk this was the closest i’ve ever come to crying writing something i just love them so much WEH #s: tcol #ren writing

[blackthornwren]

My thoughts often turn towards cannibalism and blood drinking funerary customs, but also of interest are the old customs contained in the traditional wake - the death winding sheet to cover the body, the sharing of grief with the group, the place of honor to be seated around the head of the beloved dead. And the meal - the importance of the meal was to consume the food in proximity to the corpse so that the ones left behind may take on the admirable qualities of their loved ones.

It's not a concept related only to death wakes. The belief existed with the consumption of animal meat - for example, consuming venison (deer meat) would imbue the eater with swiftness, the hare would provide traits of timidity - which is why they would not eat hare.

The body of the loved one was buried with food and light for the journey of crossing over. A candle, wine, and other goods in the casket ensured that they had all they needed for this next task. Notably, none of these items included any tools needed to escape from fairy - perhaps they thought a soul imprisoned could not free itself from captivity.

The ritual consumption of the meal and the sharing of the pipe tobacco is all about the intention of receiving the best qualities of the dead, to carry on and pass down those behaviors and traits that were found to be admirable in life. The point was to take on aspects of the deceased and emulate them as their remaining loved ones moved ahead without them.

The procession was an ordeal - the living walked as far as they could with the dead. It was also a chance at the dead having their final say before being interred. If a person had been murdered, the procession could lay the body outside of the home of the murderer. The dead always got the last word. Taking into consideration the superstitious natures and otherworldly beliefs of the people, it's a wonder anyone would commit murder at all.

The body of the dead, its appendages, fluids, and various accoutrements were regarded as powerful talismans and magical instruments. If the head was the seat of the soul, the fat of the body carried the essence of the dead and was claimed to have miraculous healing capabilities; as did the winding sheet. The spancel strip is a particularly gruesome bit of folk magic used in love charms. The flesh of a corpse was skinned off in one long continuous strip from the sole of the foot up the outside of the leg and up and over to the other side, then down to the insides of the legs - essentially, ending where they started.

The length of skin was tied around the intended. If he woke during the spell, he was cursed to die in 12 months. If the girl could tie the flesh round him without waking him, he would be hers.

Between the wake, the saining of the corpse, the procession, and the inherent magic that accompanies the mystery of death, there's a vast difference than what is typically carried out today (at least in my small corner of the world).

#folk magic #traditional witchcraft #tradcraft #traditionalwitchcraft #necromancy #venerating the dead #wren rambles

[tonechkag]

"One tradition among the East Slavs in general was to only provide spoons at funeral or memorial meals. Forks and knives were not used in case they might injure the fragile soul. Today, in north Russia this interdiction is still observed by some people while others provide forks as well as spoons, but no knives, which, in any case, rarely appear at normal mealtimes in rural areas.

In the Kureisko-Sergiev parish of Kholmogorsk uezd, at a funeral everyone would be given a new wooden spoon "in memory of the deceased". The gifting of spoons was a reminder to pray for the soul of the dead person each time the spoon was used. The deceased does not normally receive cutlery at all."

- We Remember We Love We Grieve: Mortuary and Memorial Practice in Contemporary Russia by Elizabeth Warner and Svetlana Adonyeva

#ancestral cult of the dead #russian ancestor veneration #ancestors #russian folk belief #russian folk magic #slavic folk magic #spoons #funerary rites #memorial rites #death care #holy queue #slavic paganism #slavic witchcraft

[nostalgia-tblr]

sometimes while reading review of history books on amazon i come across one that seems to think the book is fiction. i don't mean they bought the book in the mistaken belief that it was and now they're complaining about that, i mean they've read the book and they're saying it's quite good but a bit dry and goes off on odd tangents and the characters were poorly-developed so they found it a bit difficult to get into the story.

i'm going to chose to believe this is just people who read almost exclusively fiction failing to adapt their review vocabulary when discussing a work of non-fiction, because the alternative's just a bit much for me to accept.

#it's not just alison weir books either - i could imagine someone getting a few pages in before it clicked they'd bought the other kind #(some of her bad reviews are own fault for not doing an iain (m) banks but oh well that's her decision to make or not make) #i myself have occasionally bought the wrong kind of book by accident but you can usually tell right away can't you? #does it open with a quote from a dead historian or does it open with a woman describing her own appearance in the first person? #are there sex scenes full of euphemisms or a well-footnoted paragraph on 16th beliefs about the uncontrollable horniness of women? #is the venerable bede cited as a source or does he show up to make love to the protagonist? things like that. certain signs one might spot. #history fandom

[velcryons]

Another headcanon made with @imaginarianisms : ancestor veneration is a common practice among the three Valyrian houses of Westeros. This is also why names are both reused and repurposed said houses, as a way to honor the ones who came before.

House Velaryon has a particular pride in having THE ancestor, Valaena, as a member of their house. As the mother of the conqueror and his sisters, she's also partly considered the mother of the iron throne as a whole, and is seen as a protector and guide heads of the Velaryon house for years.

Daemon I is the protector of sailors, with Corlys II being called upon by adventurers. Laena I (and Alyssa, depending who you ask) is the guardian of mothers and childbirth, as well as women in general, and her brother Laenor, is the guardian of queer men and soldiers.

#ooc ; #the type of veneration is different for each house of course #and how they do such veneration #the velaryons hold a. i dont want to call it a festival but a festival during the winters #to honor their dead

[slverblood]

It's also like . . . Erlona was entrusted by Selûne with Aylin's upbringing, so of course she saw herself in more the teacher sort of role. Like she was a headmistress at a boarding school Aylin was sent to. It wasn't entirely wrong; it just wasn't entirely right either. What that approach failed to take into account is that "school" was never out for Aylin; she was never going "home" to her mother. Not for a long time, anyway. The only family she could have possibly had would've been those entrusted with her upbringing: Erlona, Meadowlin, and the Moonhaven community.

Meadowlin understood that, likely due to his background. Erlona was raised in a monastery, and Moonhaven was a famously Selûnite town that grew up around the temple. Meadowlin, however, wasn't always a paladin, wasn't especially religious before the werebear experience, and wasn't really raised religious either. (His family undoubtedly favored the halfling pantheon anyway.) So he was able to look at the matter from a different perspective. He instead approached Aylin's upbringing like they were fostering her — which is honestly the more accurate take on the situation. He not only felt more comfortable slipping into a paternal role but felt like he should, like that's what he signed up for in taking responsibility for Aylin. He trained her, yes, but also tried to generally guide and impart life wisdom to her as a father might.

#eh we'll put it in the tag why not #META / HC: PRIMARY. #they're definitely both dead by the present timeline #but if they weren't I think you'd see the difference in how Aylin greets them #there would be unmistakable fondness in her eyes as she looked at Erlona which would be reflected back. a shared smile between them as well #but there'd be more formality in the body language as well. a sweeping bow from Aylin rather than an embrace #altho she does call her 'saint most beloved' or 'dear hallowed saintess' — again with clear fondness #then Meadowlin comes out with arms thrown wide hollerin IS THAT MY WEE WANDERER COME HOME #and Aylin throws her head back to laugh and reminds him 'dearest sir I wield a sword taller than your venerable self' #but she's immediately kneeling in the dirt so she can give him the biggest hug #the two of them settle into banter and call-and-response exchanges immediately #whereas her convos with Erlona are again more formal. not without fondness but more knight speaking to saint y'know

[cxldtyrant]

@saiyanandproud asked: "Lord Cooler, pardon the... uh, grim question, but I was going through some old history notes from home and got curious. Do Arcosians have royal funerals or stuff like that?"

          The Emperor paused from his research at the Earthling’s inquiry, raising his scarlet gaze to see Mariko’s inquisitive expression from the reflective screen with a raised brow. Of all the questions she could have asked (whether sensible or outlandish, it was always a gamble whenever it came to Mariko), one regarding Arcos funerary practices had never crossed his mind. Nonetheless, he didn’t mind indulging her curiosity in his culture, and with Isa away on reconnaissance duty with Salza, he understood he was the only other Arcosian on the shuttle she could approach in regard to her interest.

         Cooler closed the system screen temporarily, turning in his seat to face the young woman as he acknowledged the question. “It is unexpected, but not necessarily grim. Death is a natural part of life, and every living creature must confront it in one way or another. Arcos is no different,” he remarked a matter-of-factly, straightening his posture as he placed his arms over the armrests. “However, we do not necessarily view death as being the end. Our lives may eventually be gone, but the essence of our existence will remain, and our legacy will live on throughout our bloodline. As such, we choose to venerate those who have died rather than mourn.”

          “When an Arcosian passes away, a funeral is held to commemorate their life. Funerals are often private affairs, and each are handled differently. Some will choose to simply have a quiet congregation with close-knit kin, while others choose a more lavish celebration with a larger gathering. When it comes to my family, we usually fall along the latter, as my father often chooses to host grand festivities with the nobility to celebrate the life of the deceased. And occasionally, he may also grant our subjects a day off to join us in remembrance.”

          And by occasionally, Cooler meant that it was entirely dependent upon his father’s mood, which he personally believed was ridiculous but unsurprising in the least. His father often thought very little of the subjects he was meant to rule and care for, especially the lower classes. The Prince fought the urge to scoff at that as he continued.

          “Once the funeral ends, we will then commence the burial. For the Cold Clan in particular, we choose to entomb their remains in ice and place them beneath our family catacombs. The freezing temperature on Arcos will allow the ice to remain frozen, preventing the decay of their corpse and providing a permanent display their image for their descendants to admire. Their tombs will also have a decorative altar for worship, allowing our family to pray for guidance or leave an offering for good fortune.”

          “Most noble families usually choose this method of burial. And from what I understand, as the lower classes usually don’t have their own family mausoleums, they will have their kin buried in public gravesites—though for home worship, I believe they can request the skull or horns of their kin for their household altar. It is incredibly important that an altar has something of the deceased upon it, otherwise they cannot be properly revered by their descendants. Which is why burial methods on other planets, such as cremation, is considered taboo by my people...with certain exceptions, of course.”

          Cremation was a fate that only the most shameful deserved. That those who besmirched their bloodline and shamed their family name were to be condemned. To have no remains for burial was considered a fate worse than death itself for the deceased. By lacking the body, or even just the bones, their link to the living was thought to be severed forever, and they were damned to be eventually forgotten by all as their names were scrubbed from the lineage they disgraced. A death beyond death. True oblivion.

          Hm. Perhaps the topic was slightly grim on that account.

          The tyrant gave a little chortle, before he regarded Mariko with a small smirk. “There is certainly more to our funerary rites and rituals, but I would be going on forever if I continued to discuss them,” he remarked, his inflection reflecting mild amusement. “If you are still curious, I recommend waiting for Isa’s return. Perhaps she will lend you a book on Arcos history and its customs. I guarantee you will find it an enlightening, if peculiar, read.”

#[arcos; the cold kingdom] #[saiyanandproud] #[inquiries; response] #[thank you for sending this to me and giving me an opportunity to discuss more headcanons regarding Arcos and its culture] #[I based their beliefs on veneration of the dead] #[which is fairly popular in Mexico and Asia] #[and also Ancient Rome] #[especially the latter when regarding that they keep bodies/body parts on display for worship] #[thank you Jenny for telling me about the cults in Naples for that bit] #[I loved it and had to incorporate it in somehow] #[Also I love the idea that Arcosians freeze their dead to display and worship them] #[and see cremation as the ultimate worst way for burial...only reserved for the worst...] #[ice vs fire baby]

[magical-musings-of-morgan]

In advance of tomorrow, I want to talk about my most honored dead.

I've found a lot of comfort in ancestral veneration, which is probably why I bring it up so often when talking to other newbies to paganism & witchcraft. I venerate my blood ancestors, and that veneration ebbs and flows like what I assume every relationship with spirits can be.

I also venerate what I call my queer ancestors; folk who I may not have any genetic relation to, but I am still tethered to by virtue of being queer. Albert Cashier, Marsha P. Johnson, and yes, Freddy Mercury are some more well-known examples.

Because of this, Transgender Day of Remembrance is probably the closest thing I have to a high holy day in my spiritual life. It is a day for me to mourn my family lost; for contemplation about the year ahead. As the world gets more and more dangerous for trans and gender-diverse folk, I find taking time to host a vigil on our Day of Remembrance to be the right mix of sobering and inspiring. I am reinvigorated in my goals of fighting for our rights and protections, not just for my trans siblings but for everyone marginalized and who doesn't belong in white, cishet, culturally-christian society.

I often light a candle, nothing elaborate; just a tealight. I say their names, and I sit in silence as the dead do not speak. I pray for a day where we're safe everywhere, not just in a handful of cities in a handful of countries.

To those we have lost this year: you were known to us. Rest well.

#text #morgans magical musings #ancestral veneration #trans day of remembrance #mourn the dead and fight like hell for the living #trans

[enchanted-moura]

thank you for sharing your opinion on my Marylin ask. Yes I am actually the anon Gaia not sure if you remember me but I once asked you whether Gaia was related to the Venusian archetype..well actually in that dream Marylin was in the Gaia realm too...so I guess you are right when you said she probably likes it on earth/gaia. I guess there are spirits that prefer it here lol and don't want to move on, which is okay. OH WOW the book title in your dream, totally makes sense with the exploitation theme!!

Oh wow thats absolutely fascinating!!! I am so blessed you shared your gifts and insight with us cause wow. Gaia being the Earth Goddess may mean that Marilyn has chosen Earth as her base with a detailed understanding of life here and stayed to help women right here. This is so beautiful. I'm in awe of how amazing the Divine is.

#venerated dead #spirits #witchblr

[pagan-stitches]

The All Hallows/All Souls/Dusicky/Day of the Dead/Samhain embroideries

My seasonal embroideries for my altar are my most important pieces.  I realized when I was going through my embroidery trunk this morning that I don’t have much in the way of Autumn pieces.  Since I can’t seem to get into the bit I just started, I’m thinking about starting a Harvest project.

#ritual embroidery #seasonal embroidery #dusicky #ancestor veneration #all hallows #all souls #samhain #memento mori #death's head hawkmoth #day of the dead #calavera #devotional embroidery