Dear friend,
Within the last couple of years, my hometown of San Antonio, Texas, has been promoting its Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) celebration to tourists. Someone apparently decided that it’s the largest of such festivals in the United States.
I’m somewhat bothered by all of this…
Before I explain why, I’d like to clarify a few things:
Día de los Muertos is not Mexican Halloween.
I’ve heard many people incorrectly call this holiday Día de Muerte, which translates to Day of Death. We do not celebrate death. Día de los Muertos kinda translates to Day of the Dead, but it doesn’t sound nice in English. For English speakers, I would suggest thinking of this as Day Dedicated to Those Who Came Before Us And Have Passed On, because that’s how I always grew up knowing it.
Disney Pixar’s Coco is a beautiful film, but it does not entirely represent Día de los Muertos. You can hear me and my colleagues at SQPN discussing the movie on our podcast ‘The Secrets of Coco,’ here.
Día de los Muertos is not Mexican Memento Mori.
The Latin phrase Memento mori — ‘Remember you will die’ — has regained popularity over the last several years as Christians search for ancient meditations (and maybe slightly because they want to feel ‘heavy metal’).
Travel the Christian world, and you’ll see skulls in sacred art, or actual skulls built into the churches. Ever since Christ’s disciples were forced to worship in hidden catacombs (a.k.a. underground graveyards), Christians have been keeping skulls close by, humbling themselves in contemplation of their precious lives.
Mi Calavera
Ya can’t really be a kid with Mexican heritage and also be scared of skulls.
Many of my childhood memories involve sitting at the clear plastic tablecloth-covered dining room table of Grandma’s house playing Lotería (Mexican Bingo) for pennies, using a pile of dried pinto beans to mark my card. These cards usually include figures like La Calavera (The Skull), La Muerte (Death — a skeleton holding a sickle), and even El Diablito while we’re on the topic (The Devil).
Most Mexican families keep an altar all year round in their home with religious statues and images, rosaries, the family Bible, etc., often accompanied by photographs of beloved family members who have passed away. However, this family altar becomes more beautiful and celebratory around the time when Día de los Muertos is celebrated.
The official days are November 1 and 2, which correspond with the Catholic commemorations of All Saints and All Souls. Traditional decorations include skulls made of sugar, figurines of skeletons doing normal stuff (especially dancing), food — real or faux, such as ceramic — representing favorite eats of the ancestors whose photographs are displayed on the altar, pan de muerto — a special type of sweet bread traditionally blessed by a priest, candles, and marigolds native to Mexico called cempazúchitl (sem-pa-SU-cheel).
Now, I grew up in a U.S. household of mixed ethnicities, and I’m delighted to call many cultures my own. My upbringing as a kid in the U.S. telegraphed to my psyche that skulls and skeletons were supposed to be scary, while my Mexican heritage took such imagery for granted as part of life and even as representative of life beyond death. The non-Mexican hemisphere of my reality, however, tended to win the tug-of-war, brushing skulls and skeletons into the Halloween closet. This included, for the most part, my identity as a young adult involved in English-speaking Catholic circles on the Internet where I found little-to-no representation of my Mexican culture.
The movie Coco released in 2017. Seeing Disney/Pixar pay tribute to my culture in a globally-released animated film was a profoundly moving experience; I didn’t bring enough tissues into the theater. After the release, however, Christian media outlets began raising questions about the film’s theological implications — usually without consulting persons of Mexican heritage. This was one reason why I chose to participate in SQPN’s aforementioned podcast about the film; to attempt a clarifying and representative voice in what had become a swirling media hullabaloo.
Soon after the film’s release, I was walking through my neighborhood grocery store in Texas, and I spotted some decorative ceramic calaveras (skulls) for sale. I paused for a few minutes in front of the display, looking over the beautiful artisanship; each was hand painted, one of a kind. I realized that I didn’t have any calaveras for my and my husband’s apartment; the vacuum of indigenous Mexican symbology in my daily life suddenly became terribly clear.
That’s how I went home with a turquoise skull.
Deeper Meaning
I’ve been around a lot of turquoise, having lived in the American Southwest my entire life. What people even in the Southwest often don’t know, however, is that turquoise is a sacred color to many indigenous peoples around the world.
“The color blue or turquoise is very important to remind us of the existence of the Second World, and that’s the world before coming into this world. The Turquoise World or the Blue World.”
My ancient Mexica (Aztec) ancestors wrote the glyph meaning “turquoise” as a quincunx shape. The turquoise glyph has been called ‘the cross of Quetzalcóatl,’1 who is the preeminent Mexica figure of rebirth and spiritual fulfillment.
At the skull’s crown is a fuchsia flower, and floral designs are placed all around the skull.
Flowers in Mexica culture for thousands of years have signified transcendent truth and life.
The indigenous peoples of Mexico longed to see a flower-filled Paradise, entrance to which was granted by the God of Near and Far. This mythos played an enormous role in millions of indigenous conversions following Our Lady of Guadalupe’s apparition to Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoatzin.
The back of my calavera features a peacock hiding its head. I interpret this as relevant to the Mayan legend of the peacock, who convinces another bird to forgo its plumage so that Peacock could earn the title King of Birds. However, when his proud ways were discovered by the Creator, Peacock was punished — which is why peacocks are beautiful but sound so funky! It is a story about the importance of humility.
Whenever I see this skull and think about its symbols, I am renewed in hope. It links me to the sacredness of life and death and eternity.
Remaining Planted
This deep-rooted, sacred heritage is why I am somewhat troubled by my city’s tourism office advocating a more commercialized Día de Muertos.
Most of our downtown celebrations take place where restaurant and shop owners have been placing their family altars in their windows or outside their doors for decades. However, it doesn’t take much imagination to assume that a more commercialized celebration could easily turn into a pro-tourist spectacle, emphasizing here-and-now revelry and glamour while slowly drifting away from the sacred roots of sharing our ancestors’ wisdom and praying for their joy in Paradise.
As the crowds gather this weekend, I’d like to ask you: What is one piece of wisdom you have gained from your ancestors?
I look forward to sharing some special ancestors with you in the coming days.
Peace be with you on your journey,
Angela
Pasztory, Esther and Harry N. Abrams, Aztec Art. New York, 1983.
Having done some genealogy work, about 80% of my ancestry is from the UK, even though I have a Dutch name.
Growing up in a white Protestant family, many of my ancestors were Masons. I am now Catholic. I’m struck by the depth of ancestral culture in many Catholic families. I never experienced that. Thank you for explaining Día de los Muertos. It’s very helpful for me.