Mexicans view death, from my external observation, as much a part of life as breathing. Just as the sun shines each day, darkness must eventually fall upon us. Yin & yang, masculine & feminine, sun & moon, life & death. Our dualistic reality is nothing more than an endless dance of opposites. Light can not exist without darkness, in the same way that life can not exist without death.
Photo credit: Muerteadas Oaxaca
I can’t speak for all cultures in the world, but it seems to me that many other Western cultures barely acknowledge that death is always lurking around unsuspecting corners. It’s as if, although we know the Grim Reaper is there, we don’t believe he’s ever going to come for us. Perhaps we are holding onto a belief that we may be that special someone who escapes his icy grasp somehow. But how could one possibly ignore this element of existence that every person, animal, and even plant inevitably faces? Why is it that many of us choose to turn a blind eye to it?
When our loved ones pass on, we honor them with a funeral shrouded with melancholy, and then tuck them away in our memories for safekeeping. It’s as if we are shutting a door to the pain of their departure. Is there perhaps even a sense of selfish resentment that they have left us alone in this cold and cruel world?
Dia de los Muertos or Day of the Dead, is a mezcla of dark and light that unfolds at the beginning of November each year. The ancestors knew that the changing of the seasons was the perfect time to acknowledge the spirit realms. As summer turns to autumn, death in nature becomes evident. Trees lose their leaves, and the vibrancy of summer’s bloom turns to decay. The days shorten, moving toward exceeding darkness. During this time, one of the most important celebrations of the year for Mexicans, the doors of the spirit world are opened. A heaviness fills the air, but it’s also filled with love and fondness for those who have departed. Ceremonies and rituals around death in Mexico date back to pre-Hispanic days, and today this celebration is a unique combination of culture and religion.
During my most recent trip to Mexico, I joined the Dia de los Muertos festivities in the small town of Sayulita. For three nights, starting on All Hollows’ Eve, Mexicans and foreigners alike honored those who have passed on. In town, elaborate altars were constructed for important members of the community and children who lost their lives too soon. As I meandered through the town square, stopping at each altar, I simultaneously felt a sense of heavy sadness and overwhelming joy. I’m not even sure how it’s possible to experience such a range of emotions.
Photo credit: Muerteadas Oaxaca
A stage at the center had been erected which operated as a hub for the jovial sounds of banda and ranchera music, and in-between songs the almost unintelligible rapid-fire speech of the announcer kept the energy high. People were eating street tacos and spilling out of bars that surrounded the town center, laughing and hugging friends and acquaintances. There was an undoubtable reminder of the exuberance and commotion of life.
But when you stopped to show your respects at an altar, it’s as if time stood still. Altars were adorned with puffy yellow and orange flowers, known as cempasúchil, some showcased meticulously intricate flower mandalas. A bowl of pretzels, a can of beer, or a bottle of mezcal indicated the departed’s favorite food and drinks. Framed photos of favorite memories are surrounded by burning candles which act as wayshowers to help them to rejoin this realm, if only for a few nights.
I became overwhelmed by emotion as I moved my way through the children’s section. Names, ages, and photos made it all too real. This was a time for members of the community to remember together, as they invited their children and loved ones in through the doors of the spirit world and join in the festivities in honor of them.
Skulls and skeletons are seen everywhere in Mexico, at all times of the year. There are hand-painted ceramic human skulls and skeleton figurines of animals. There are skeletons going about daily life, and skeletons dressed in suits and wedding attire. Death is very real here. It’s bathed in color, and it’s faced eye-to-eye.
I came away from this with a deep reverence for death. The relationship between life and death is a natural, symbiotic relationship that should be honored. Death is not something to fear, it is not the enemy. We can choose to be afraid of death, or we can make death our friend, our compadre. When we dress as death and paint our faces in skeleton white, as if to say “I see you! I know you may come for me at any moment, and when the time comes, I will be ready.” Death can show us how to live with grace and gratitude. When we acknowledge death, we can live life to the fullest. And what a blessing it is to dance the dance, and sing the song of life each and every day.