Deeper into Dia de los Muertos

Sometimes reality gets obscured...if only for a moment.

It’s 5:30 am. I know because I glanced at the time just as the nearby Church bells clang into my consciousness.

Todos somos calaveras
We are all skeletons

I lay there in a dreamy state remembering that today, November 1^st, is my Birthday.

I smile thinking the bells are for me. Egotistical, for sure. 

And then adding to it from the court yard below, a Mexican brass band trumpets loudly-very loudly.  Wow,  as if that’s not enough, overhead a volley of rockets explode in rapid succession.

I’m awake.

Still, in my mind, I play with the egotistical fantasy of bells chiming, brass band playing and rockets exploding for me. When in reality, it’s the Church calling the faithful to Dia de los Muertos or Day of the Dead.

Designed from marigolds
and colored sawdust

Cathedral in Morelia

Today, I'll go to Morelia about a four hour bus ride from Ajijic. It’s a beautiful city adorned with monumental buildings from Spanish Colonial times.

I’ll be joining a small tour group. Our guide promises a deeper glimpse into the ritual of Day of the Dead as Mexican families again remember and even welcome deceased loved ones back into their lives.

We go to a small indigenous village – Cuanajo. A family who recently lost a loved one, welcomes us into their home. Before us stands an altar known as an Ofrenda. 

Pictures of the deceased and their treasured objects keep their living spirit before us. It’s not worship of the deceased but more of a communion with them.

Being with a loved one at the Ofrenda

Neighbors bring gifts of food. Fruit and bread baskets spill across the floor. Our guide says that the food is meant for sharing in a festive celebration of life and death. We are encouraged to leave our tourist mentality behind and become participants with all the others.

To light the pathway

I’m welcomed into the family with hot chocolate and a cluster of buns especially baked for this occasion. As I dunk the bread in to the chocolate, I look around.

Candles glow everywhere. I learn that they are considered essential to light the pathway for the deceased. Likewise marigolds - flowers and petals – have a special meaning. Their color and scent guide the departed towards the party...if only for this day and night.

A group says a rosary. Another gathers in lively conversation. A cluster of older men quietly reminisce or at least I think they are. Children run about. Cups of hot Atole (corn based drink) are shared. And another tray of Frijoles de la olla (bean soup) circulates. Lots of food.

And within the party, there seems to be a presence.  Have the departed returned?  It's not a scary spooky thing.  This community joins not only in a time of remembering, but also in being together.

Imagine, if the dead and living were more inter-dependent.  Mexican people say, "You die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when your name is said for the last time."  

If you haven’t yet seen the Disney movie, Coco, see it and you’ll understand.

It’s a powerful experience sensing the attachment that exists between living and deceased. 

Life is short, and death keeps going on.

Learn more https://www.inside-mexico.com/the-day-of-the-dead-offering/

In the dark hours of the night, we make our way to Tzurumútaro and a Church’s graveyard. It’s a steep climb up a series of hills. At 9000 feet, we can stop and catch our breath – as often as we want.

We’re told that the original Mexican people - Purepecha or Tarascans to the Spanish conquistadors – considered this space sacred. They did not build temples, but came here to bury the dead and connect with Spirit.

The Spaniards appropriated the space in the mid 1600s and later built a Church. They worked at Christainizing the natives. Still indigenous beliefs survived. In fact the entire notion of Day and Night of the Dead comes from these ancient sacred spaces and the Purepecha people.

Come. let’s walk into the grave yard.

Groups cluster in a kind of vigil. Some are talking quietly. Other stand in silent contemplation. Tourists, like us, take pictures and try to not be too conspicuous. It is a sacred space.

Candles illuminate and marigolds glow. Knowing the story, I can imagine the deceased finding their way towards us. I mention this to a fellow tourist, and she starts crying. 

Her father had died.

Skulls recalling the beloved
of Ajijic's community 

I begin recalling family and loved ones who have died also. I ask my inner voice to visualize antidotes – the ones that are funny or typical of their lives.  

I stand there for a long time... imaging as if seeing a dream... surrounded by the glow of candles and scent of marigolds.  

If only, the barrier between life and death was more porous. Maybe then, there would be a kind of reunion.  

Dia de los Muertos....See you again