As it does with the death of a Jedi, the Force only grew stronger with Elvis Presley after his untimely passing in 1977.

With tonight's 31st candlelight vigil upon us, he's now virtually omnipresent, like Santa, and with just as much ground to cover. Elvis' ghost has been spotted on the steps of Graceland and in the streets of Las Vegas. Movies such as "Mystery Train" and "True Romance" reference the supernatural phenomenon that Elvis has become. A perennial tabloid presence, he appears in unlikely places, sometimes lost and bewildered, sometimes doling out advice.

To some, Elvis is a religion unto himself. Gregory L. Reece, author of "Elvis Religion: The Cult of the King," came up with his topic after meeting a fan who'd moved to Memphis to be closer to The King.

Elvis' own fascination with world religions and death's

mysteries entices pop scholars and psychics alike. In her autobiography, Priscilla Presley complained about all the mystical books from his hairdresser Elvis would pile on the bed, which resulted in far too many deep talks. It was the closest she ever came to life in a college dormitory. What was Elvis searching for?

Tea lights and Teddy bears

I have no idea.

But last Aug. 15, while attending the vigil commemorating the 30th anniversary of Elvis' death, I had a vision on the street outside Graceland's gates.

It happened while walking among the impromptu tributes that fans were huddled around -- photos, paintings, trinkets, relics, all illuminated by burning candles.

The vision, a literal one, was a group of young people in lawn chairs who had erected what could be called a shrine. It was a white bust of Elvis wearing plastic leis. A single flame flickered under its chin. People had left small objets d'art at the base of it. The creators offered me some booze.

"You're just here for the party, aren't you?" I asked.

"Well, yes," the guy admitted, sotto voce.

"I like your shrine," I said.

"Yeah, and it's growing."

I started thinking about the meaning and purpose of Elvis shrines, since there are many scattered across the United States.

In foreign households, religious shrines aid in the practice of religion. In Japan, Shinto believers tote mobile shrines called mikoshi, which contain the spirits of deities. On the Mexican Day of the Dead, people make small shrines using skeleton figurines and personal mementos to remember their deceased relatives.

The all-American shrine to Elvis is open to many interpretations -- secular, religious and occasionally ironic. Why shouldn't everybody have an Elvis shrine? Especially here in Memphis. If one wishes to pay tribute to the magnificent invention of rock and roll, why not light a candle at a shrine to its one of its key founders?

Tommy Foster is possibly Memphis' foremost expert on homemade Elvis shrines. Years ago, he built one at the coffee shop Java Cabana in Cooper-Young. Put a quarter in the slot and it lights up and plays music. Foster called it the "Church of Elvis Impersonator," and he even officiated weddings in front of it.

A condensed version of the shrine was installed a few doors down from its original location, at Goner Records. Foster now works for the Center for Southern Folklore and builds blues shrines professionally.

"I was just goofing around when I started building it," he said. "I was thinking of how to get tourists to come to the area. It was a 'If you build it, they will come' sort of deal."

He stuffed his cabinet- sized shrine with Elvis artifacts: blue suede shoes, a silver pistol, toy cars and a folk-art likeness of Elvis in a jumpsuit wearing sunglasses and sporting sideburns.

It collected about $200 a month in quarters. Elvis Presley Enterprises tried to sue Foster three times.

"I was breaking all the rules," he said. "I respect Graceland's need to protect the copyright, but it was more of an artistic statement."

More typical (and temporary) Elvis shrines might be found at the Days Inn near Graceland, where the swimming pool is guitar-shaped and visitors during Elvis Week set up their tributes in the courtyard windows. The hotel has an annual contest for the best one.

What's in a tribute?

Two weeks ago, I asked Memphis artist Dwayne Butcher to consider creating an Elvis shrine that would highlight the artistic aspects of a memorial. Butcher was the right guy for the job; his second date with the girl he'd later marry was to a Graceland candlelight vigil.

He called a few friends, also artists, to help come up with a concept. One of them was Foster, who emphasized the value of discretion around diehard Elvis fans.

He also enlisted Tad Lauritzen Wright, the artist who made news last March by tying blue banners to trees along North, East and South Parkways, mystifying residents.

Another artist friend, David Comstock, had once been escorted out of Graceland during a vigil.

"For my dead homie," he'd said at the grave, consecrating the ground with a pour of beer. "I learned that security does not play around," he said.

Their first brainstorm was to have a mobile puppet theater that would depict scenes from Elvis' life: karate lessons with Red West, Robert Goulet getting shot out of a television, etc. But there was some disagreement as to which person would have to perform the show.

By the end of the evening, they agreed to put their individual skills to work on a more shrine-like creation. There would be a collage of Elvis pictures, a bust of the King, and possibly something that used the dripping of paint -- Butcher's trademark. The result has its debut tonight on GoMemphis.com.

Meanwhile, I began work on my own shrine.

I'd hoped to create something that expressed the view Memphians have toward their hometown hero, so I started by asking a number of Downtowners (um, barflies) what their personal Elvis shrines would look like.

But some locals don't share the reverential attitude toward the icon that true fans do. When they missed the distinction between shrine and satire, they were asked simply to free-associate to the word "Elvis." The list was familiar: karate, blue suede shoes, gold records, jumpsuits, T.C.B., pink Cadillacs.

I visited local thrift stores in search of appropriate relics, with little success.

And then, one night, as I was driving in Midtown, I found a battered guitar case on the side of the road.

It was the ideal starting point for my shrine. And tonight, encircled by candles, it will represent my own evolving homage to the King.

The Graceland Candlelight Vigil

Tonight in front of Graceland Mansion at 3734 Elvis Presley Blvd.

The street closes to traffic after 5 p.m. The gates open at 8:30 p.m. to allow fans to make a solemn walk to the grave carrying a candle. The event is free.