Mati here at the Altar

The altar and the table of origin

Every transformation needs a place where it can happen.

Not because the universe requires it, but because consciousness recognizes it. Nothing truly profound occurs in absolute disorder. Even chaos, in order to reveal itself, needs a frame.

That is why, since ancient times, human beings have created altars.

What an altar is

An altar is not an object. It is a spatial decision.

It is the act of separating a fragment of everyday space in order to look at it differently. To elevate it—not necessarily in physical height, but in intention. The altar marks an invisible boundary: here one stops reacting and begins to observe.

Ancient cultures built altars on mountaintops, in forest clearings, in temples aligned with the sky. They did not do this to get closer to the gods, but to clear the field of vision.

A temple is not a building. It is a cleared space.

When land was cleared to create a temple, the first thing that was done was to remove trees, undergrowth, stones. Not to destroy nature, but to open a clearing. That clearing made it possible to see the stars, follow the cycles, understand the order of the sky.

That same gesture is what we need to make today.

The inner temple

The human brain is a sacred place. But it is almost never cleared.

We live with minds saturated by crossed branches: inherited ideas, repeated beliefs, expectations, fears, other people’s narratives. A forest so dense that light can no longer pass through.

Part of alchemy does not consist in learning new things, but in clearing the field. Creating an inner space where consciousness can once again orient itself by the stars.

That is why ancient traditions used fire.

They burned old wood and allowed the ashes to nourish the open earth. Fire did not destroy; it transformed. It removed what blocked vision and fertilized the ground for a new order.

Today we perform the same gesture, but with attention.

The candle as Excalibur

Our altar will be simple. So simple that it can always accompany us.

King Arthur’s Round Table is not a piece of furniture; it is a symbol of center and equality. No one occupies a higher place, because the center belongs to the origin.

On our altar, Excalibur will not be a metal sword. It will be a small candle.

The flame is a point of contact between worlds. It does not belong entirely to matter nor entirely to air. It moves, vibrates, consumes, and illuminates at the same time. The flame is visible origin.

That candle, at the center, represents Excalibur anchored in the stone: consciousness rooted in the body.

The twelve around the fire

Around the candle, twelve objects are placed.

They can be twelve, or twenty-four if one wishes to represent signs and chakras separately. The object itself is not essential; what matters is the symbolic relationship established with it.

Each object represents a zodiac sign and its corresponding chakra. It can be a stone, a crystal, a figure, a drawn symbol, a natural element. This is not about aesthetics, but about resonance.

By arranging them in a circle, a tangible image of the order being calibrated is created. The body understands images before concepts. Matter responds when it is organized with intention.

This is how the Round Table is built.

The daily rite

The ritual does not need to be long. It needs presence.

The most favorable moments are usually simple ones: upon waking, when the mind has not yet filled with stimuli, or before sleep, when the day begins to settle.

You approach the altar. You light the candle. You pronounce the mantra of the element of the day.

Then you bring attention to the corresponding chakra. A minimal gesture, a conscious breath, a subtle internal adjustment. Nothing forced. Nothing theatrical.

After that, you observe the flame.

The contemplation of fire is not passive. It is an alchemical act. The flame transforms what obstructs inner vision. It consumes, without violence, the layers that are no longer necessary.

While observing the fire, you set the intention: that everything that blocks your clear perception of the cosmos be transformed into light.

That is enough.

Anchoring vision in matter

Hermetic laws teach that the external world reflects the internal world. But less often is the inverse stated: the internal world is also ordered through external structures.

That is why the altar is important.

Not to modify the external world, but to strengthen the internal world.

When an idea is anchored in matter, it becomes stable. The ceremony is not a supplication to the universe; it is a reconfiguration of consciousness.

A space is created where vision has somewhere to rest.

The altar as companion

The challenge is not to make it perfect. The challenge is to sustain it.

There may be an altar at home. There may be a small one to carry with you. It may be recreated mentally when no objects are available.

What is essential is the gesture: to open a space, light the fire, order the circle.

Thus, day after day, space becomes an ally of rhythm. And rhythm, little by little, transforms the brain into a temple.

When the space is cleared, the flame reveals.

And when the flame reveals, alchemy occurs effortlessly.

Welcome to the Alchemical Temple.