I got there around 6:30pm and entered a large room filled with the scent of burning sage. The crowd of about 70 adults and children--mostly low-income immigrants--stood in a circle facing one another. One of the event participants was speaking about the sacred and ceremonious properties of sage and how it's used to connect with the dead and the earth around us. Prior to my arrival, the group shared the names of those loved ones that had passed over the years. This is the one part of the event that drove me to attend in the first place. (Lately I've been keeping the darker side of my life in the recesses of my heart marked 'Do not Disturb', so I was a little ambivalent when I heard that the opportunity to share had come and gone).
Most people don't like to talk about death. Or maybe they don't know what to say. Usually, "I'm sorry" is the typical response and then awkwardness sets in until a proper transition to another topic presents itself. If a person has lost someone (especially if it was recent or the person meant a lot to their lives), the conversation often provides a chance to share with another who the person was, and how and why they are remembered. The two of you embrace one another's humanity and tap into the spiritual energy that often feels larger than ourselves and becomes increasingly keen once one experiences the death of a loved one.
And that is how I will describe this event--intimate, a chance to share, and if not to share, to at least acknowledge those that have died in a way that honors their life. There was an altar and all. Here and there candles, teas, coffee, alcohol, cigarettes, bread, soup, flowers, rosaries, and little skeleton heads and figurines littered the tables of the makeshift altar--items placed by the living in remembrance of their loved ones' favorite items while physically alive.
The scent of burning sage filled the room the whole night long--and stayed on my jacket as a nice reminder. A prayer in the indigenous language of Nahuatl was offered to bless the Sun, the Earth, and the connection of each to the living and also to the dead. There was also a lot of dancing to popular Spanish language music, mostly during breaks to close one part of the evening and to begin another. Various flavors of tamales, special bread made during Dia de los Muertos festivities, and champurrado (a chocolate flavored drink made from corn-starch and other ingredients) was offered free to all of the attendees. I grubbed on 2 breads and 4 tamales. Unfortunately, the champurrado went fast and I only had a cup.
This was my second "Dia de los Muertos" experience. I must say that it's great to live in a city that provides even the slightest of opportunities to celebrate death and life in a way that no other traditional American holiday provides. It's a unique and special occurrence when a group of very different people can get together to honor Life and Death. The atmosphere is open to the possibility of the spiritual realm and embraces the notion that while our bodies may live and die, some deeper connection exists to the dead, the earth and the cosmos, and to our fellow human.
I said a small prayer for those people that have passed in my life, inhaled the pungent aroma of sage, and acknowledged the eternal spiritual presence of the dead.
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