Día de los Muertos: Ritual Observances

Third in a three-part series devoted to Día de los Muertos—#1 explores the ritual's roots in Mesoamerican culture; #2 explores Día de los Muertos preparations undertaken in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán—this third post describes our experiences both the night of November 1 and the Day of November 2: Día de los Muertos. 

Night: November 1 

Panteón (Cemetery)

It is difficult to find words to communicate adequately the mood we encountered at the Panteón of Tzurumútaro, our neighboring pueblo, when we arrived at about 8:00 PM the night of November first.

Our first impression was overwhelmingly visual. The Panteón was bathed in a suffuse amber light created by hundreds of candles lighting thousands of marigolds. Our second impression was olfactory as we detected the unmistakable fragrance of copal burning as incense.

Candles and marigolds bathed the Panteón in an amber glow,
reminiscent of candlelight services in Christian churches

Imagine being enveloped—surrounded 360-degrees—
by lights, flowers and the fragrance of burning copal

As our eyes adjusted to the light and our beings aligned themselves with what we saw and felt unfolding before us, we became aware of more than candles, copal and marigolds.

We became aware of people—families—keeping vigil. Renowned Mexican-American professor of religion (Harvard Divinity School) David Carrasco tells us that the vigil is called Xochatl in Nahuatl and La Llorada (the Weeping) in Spanish. It is the time when the living and dead join together as a vital spiritual community.

It is believed that the souls of departed family members travel down through the Underworld before ascending to Heaven to become part of the Life-Force. It is also believed that on this one night, departed spirits return to communicate with still-living family. Hence, these patient vigils:

The living reassure the dead that they will remember and nurture them in their daily lives; reciprocally, the spirits of the dead reassure the living of their continued protection.

Those keeping vigil in the Panteón spoke respectfully in low, conversational tones. Their voices were comfortable, matter-of-fact. A taken-for-granted quality—"of course, this is how it is"—permeated the Panteón. We felt quietly reassured.

Mother and daughter pay their respects

Women keeping vigil 

Woman keeping vigil

Finally, perhaps, as we stepped carefully through the Panteón—avoiding tree roots and graves, we gradually became aware of what seemed to us to be incongruities—evidence of synchretism, including details characteristic of Halloween in the United States.

We took a double-take at this candle-lit skull above a simple cross

Three lighted pumpkin skulls--or jack-o-lanterns?

But again and again, we found ourselves drawn to the numerous family groups patiently, comfortably keeping vigil.

Family keeping vigil 

Carrasco observes,

"What is outstanding ... is the belief that one's life on this earth is dependent, in part, on treating the dead well. People believe that if the dead are not worshiped, nurtured, and remembered in the proper manner, their own economic security, family stability and health will be in jeopardy. Therefore, careful and generous preparations are carried out" (p. 144).

This belief is compatible with the responsibilities of humans toward their gods as set forth in the Aztec creation myth (see earlier post).  At the core are interlocking sets of reciprocal relationships; each does for the other.

The gods created man and the natural world; humans nurture and praise the gods. Present-day humans are here because of the efforts of those who have gone before; hence, today's humans are bound to honor the role of the ancestors in making possible those who are alive today.

Private Home 

After our time in the Panteón, we drove to a second pueblo nearby. Our driver, Abrám, knew our interests, but we were still startled when he stopped abruptly in front of a house with its doors open. He got out of the car and spoke briefly with a man standing in front of the house.

Upon returning, he announced that we could visit this family. The grandmother had died during the past year, and the family had erected an ofrenda for her.

The ground floor of the house was an open space—large enough to park two or even three cars. At the back of this space was the ofrenda shown below:

Seven-tiered ofrenda honoring the family's grandmother, 
who had died in the past year; her framed photo appears
on the sixth (next to the last) tier.

Carrasco writes that within the family's house, the ofrenda or altar serves as the axis mundi (world axis connecting the earthly plane with Heaven above and the Underworld below) centering the family's ritual and ceremonial life. The 'cornucopia of goods' represents the quest for fertility and the renewal of relations with dead family members and friends.

A friend adds her offering to the
'cornucopia' of fruit on the altar

But, adds Carrasco, the overall image is of a 'Mountain of Sustenance' that orients and nourishes the family community. He is referring is to the Mesoamerican ceremonial pyramids that symbolized rain, fertility and the 'container of the most valued supernatural powers'. In part, concludes Carrasco, Día de los Muertos altars and ofrendas symbolize the body of the life-giving earth with its forces of regeneration.

Meanwhile, in this modest house in a small pueblo, four or five long tables had been set up in front of the altar and along the side walls. We were invited to join other guests at a table. As we learned later, we were at the table for fuereños y  extranjeros  (Mexicans not from Pátzcuaro and foreigners). Pozole and tamales were brought to us, as were thimbles of tequila.

This unexpected hospitality at what we assumed to be a deeply private family moment was unnerving. People from the pueblos generally don't have extra money, yet here was not only a lavish ofrenda but a lavish spread extended even to total strangers.

Carrasco provides the key:  In Mexico, where poverty is widespread, efforts expended for Día de los Muertos are undertaken with a sense of sacrifice on behalf of the family. This core value—sacrifice to assure survival of the family—is deeply rooted in the cultural soil of Mesoamerica.

Morning: November 2

Abrám arrived at about 10 AM and drove us to Ihuatzio, a nearby pueblo on the shores of Lake Pátzcuaro.  The gate of the Panteón was covered with marigolds:

As we walked through the gate, the visual contrast to the previous night is stunning and immediate. Bathed in strong sunlight, the profusion of flowers softens the tired specter of spent candles.

Exhausted after their all-night vigils, nonetheless the people remain sitting quietly...performing the rituals that renew their relationships with the antepasados—those who have passed before.

The dominant ritual on the Morning of November 2  is the generous sharing of bread and fruit. Reed reminds me that bread, of course, comes from Europe. Introduced by the Spanish, wheat is another example of cultural diffusion. Pan de Muerte appeared on large trays laden with various kinds of fruit.

Pan de Muerte (Bread of Death) in the
shape of a human figure with crossed arms

Pan de Muerte symbolizes the reciprocal relationship between humans and death:

 We feed the dead, and the dead feed us.

Because of our ignorance at the time, we found this generous hospitality unsettling. In an earlier post, I quoted Gustavo Esteva about the role of hospitality in Mesoamerican culture:

"For the people know that hospitality is not only a condition for survival, it is also the only way to live." 

Día de los Muertos observances, then, are centered on honoring and renewing reciprocal relationships with family members and friends who have passed before. These ritual observances reaffirm peoples roots with their ancestors by recognizing the eternal, complementary and reciprocal cycles—the essential unity—of life and death. It is a time of reflection, communal sharing and celebration of life past and present.