We call upon those that have lived on this earth,
our ancestors and our friends, who dreamed the best for
future generations, and upon whose lives are built,
and with thanksgiving, we call upon them to:
Teach us, and show us the way.
from Chinook Blessing Litany
A few weeks ago, my mother, Shayne and I made the trip to the Wild Rivers area about 30 miles north of Taos, NM. It was a stunning trip visually. The clouds, the huge sky and the majestic mountains all conspired for our attention.
But out of all that we saw that day (post about it later), this cemetery in Cerro, NM that we passed affected me the most. It was before Dia De Los Muertos, or November 2 of this year. My mother was puzzled why the cemeteries are lavishly decorated here in New Mexico. It is different from where she is from in Arkansas. The cemeteries here are colorful and visited more, I think, than in most places in the the United States.
Last Monday, Shayne and I went to the Adobe Bar where there was a communal altar set up in celebration of Dia De los Muertos. We sat upstairs for a while and listened as community leaders and members related stories about their dead relatives and friends. The entire time I was there, the thought kept going through my head, "Why don't we do that in the United States?"
Wait a minute, I am in the United States!
The United States is vast. There are huge cultural differences that most visitors miss in their rush to see the high points in their one or two week vacations. While I was in the Adobe Bar, I almost felt as if I were intruding in the living room of a family living in a foreign country. It was somewhat intimate, and I felt uncomfortable enough that I didn't want to sit downstairs and be a part of their celebration of the lives of those that are gone. I wanted to be quiet, reflective and just observe.
During my visit to the Taos Adobe, I was drawn to the cemetery there as well. It is very old. No one is allowed in the cemetery except during Dia De Los Muertos. They clean it up by putting the old wooden crosses that have fallen down against the front wall. Families enter and honor those that have gone before them by remembering the stories, legends and characters that fill the grave yard. This seems right to me. I love that it is culturally important to do this, to remember and to learn from the lives of the dead.
I have lost a few family members during my lifetime. My grandparents are gone, as well as an Uncle. Their remains are scattered all over the United States. I can't imagine living in one place for so long that you can go to one grave yard to visit your family and extended family's remains. Most days, I revel in the fact that we are basically homeless...we don't have a "place" that is or ever has been, ours. I have lived in over 40 different locations in my lifetime. My parents never lived closer then 500 miles from their parents. Divorces have taken their toll...as well as deaths. Mobility for the most part has been a fantastic way to live, but there are times like this week...where I pause, and wonder about the feeling of being grounded and having all of that personal history right there at my fingertips.
Those that have gone before us still teach, still reach out to remind us of how we came to be. My grandmother Helen loved to travel. She was curious about everything, but she had 6 kids to raise alone in her 30's after my grandfather passed unexpectedly of a heart attack. She worked and made a home for her children, and they grew up and left the nest. She remarried in her 60's, but didn't get to travel as much as she would have liked. But she instilled in me her sense of curiosity and adventurousness. When I wanted to go work in Alaska in my early 20's, she was my cheerleader. She suggested in her grandmotherly way that I was lucky to live in a world where a single woman could pursue her dreams and go where ever she chose to...and I did. And I still do.
So this week I have been still. Listening to the stories of the long gone, and taking the opportunity to decide that from now on, I will take this local custom of remembering and honoring and celebrating the memories of the dead with me too. No matter where I am in November from here on out, this is a custom I wish to adopt. Slow travel allows all the flavors of a place to seep in a bit better then fast travel. Tastes better too.
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