My time in Mexico was an interesting exercise in making friends with La Muerte. The fact that I arrived on November 1, 2012 – el Día de Muertos – is not lost on me. In my initial “exploration of the world,” I found myself in Death’s classroom with a very hands-on experience exploring the history, symbolism, and misconceptions of The Day of the Dead.
A month after my arrival, my mom – who was only weeks away from her 40th birthday – died. Catastrophe more or less followed, but it led me to my “Mexican mom” and mentor, Lili. In addition to healing my heart, she taught me everything she knew about el Día de Muertos and how to make an ofrenda (altar) to honor the dead, only for me to build an altar for her the next year.
Like I said, it was a hands-on experience, and Death was plenty patient with me.
It has come time to honor the dead again, and in honoring one of my greatest teachers, Lilia Enters Urquiza, I wish to impart knowledge upon you, my dear readers.
Among all of the wrong ideas many people have about el Día de Muertos, the worst is it being “the Mexican version of Halloween.” It’s not the same as Halloween. Stop confusing it.
While similar traditions exist around the world, Day of the Dead has roots in the practices of the indigenous cultures of Mexico stretching back nearly 3,000 years. The original occult symbolism has remained strong, despite Catholic meddling. From the belief that their offerings will invite the departed souls to visit, to celebrating and partying with the dead, el Día de Muertos is deeply spiritual.
Other misconceptions include the purpose and tone of the holiday. The celebrations aren’t necessarily morose. Some people are somber and solemn in arranging their altar and honoring the dead. Others have picnics at the grave site, gather objects for their altars all year long, and share anecdotes with friends and family. Others drink and get rowdy and party with the dead.
It really boils down to how the deceased would have liked to be honored. I drank a bottle of Jack Daniels, some Coca-Cola, ate a whole bag of Lay’s barbecue potato chips, and listened to classic rock. These were the things my mom loved.
And as much as honoring her made me aware of her absence, sharing stories and celebrating her life in a way in which she would have participated and approved, changed the tone of my grief entirely. Loss was treated in a completely different manner in my own American culture; in helping me understand hers, Lili prepared me to make peace with her death in a healthy way – one that involves sharing, laughter, love, and remembrance.
Arranging the altar was the first step in understanding the practice. Each object has a significance, and each person has their preferences. Among the most common objects you find on an altar, you’ll find a photo of the dead, pan de muerto (bread of the dead) and flor de muerto (marigolds) to attract the dead, candles (because candles), calaveras (skulls) with the dead’s names inscribed upon them, and copal, an indigenous incense. People often include religious imagery, water in case the dead arrive thirsty, salt for purification, and other items the dead enjoyed.
My altar included all of the aforementioned, plus a few fat joints for my mom, cigarettes for my Nanny, and – when the time came – a bottle of anise liquor and as many books as I could use to form an aesthetically attractive altar for Lili.
People don’t don costumes for el Día de Muertos. What you’ve seen is skull face-paint and traditional dress. I got so many weird looks when I went out dressed as a witch my first Halloween in Mexico (I can’t help it; I love dress up!); it was unusual to see an adult in a non-traditional dress. It is common to see children dress up as La Calavera Catrina (a politically satirical image of a skeleton dressed in upper-class attire of the time), but not so much adults.
As far as symbolism goes, La Catrina is probably the most globally recognized image. Created by Mexican artist José Guadalupe Posada, La Catrina was a commentary on the indigenous who were ashamed of their cultural heritage and imitated the French style that was popular at the time, as well as the massive wealth in the hands of the few and the oppression and suffering of the majority – especially the indigenous.
La Catrina and its association with death became wildly popular with the creation of a mural (that I passed at least twice, daily) by Diego Rivera, Sueño de una tarde dominical en la Alameda Central, as it changed Catrina’s context completely. The mural is a depiction of Mexico’s close relationship with death – no shame, no shedding of heritage, just a good hearty laugh with La Muerte, herself.
Good news is: trick-or-treating does happen in Mexico. American culture has bloodied the whole place up – literally and figuratively – and our Halloween traditions are just as common there, now, as their own.
By far, my favorite thing about el Día de Muertos is that the community at large comes together to honor the dead. From huge public altars on the UNAM campus, in Palacio de Bellas Artes, and at Xochimilco (also home to isla de las muñecas), to taking candles to the homes of those who have lost someone in the last year, it’s in the cultural blood. Many central points of public interest that I’ve been to in DF (el Templo Mayor in el Zócalo, Teotihuacán, el Monumento a la Revolución) are – or have been – dedicated to sacrifice or honor of the dead.
And one thing is for sure – from October 31 to November 2, the odds of the dead visiting you are good and you can party like it’s 1999, if that’s your thing. You can also explore death and your relationship with pretty much everything, ever, and come out laughing. While blending of cultures can be a truly wonderful experience, misconceptions often tag along. Only knowledge cuts through bullshit.
So this is my knowledge for you, Dirgelings, and may death always be a celebration.
