Morelia – Day of the Dead

Oct. 30, 2010 - PRLog -- Morelia – Day of the Dead
By Dorothy Bell
Photography by Bill and Dorothy Bell
“I think I would like to be buried in Mexico next to a big family. That way I would hear mariachis and laughter. I would hear sweet whispers of respect and smell the candles, marigolds and incense.  I would be fed delicious foods and drink the best of tequilas. I would hear stories of people I wish I had known.”
Day of the Dead and Halloween have only skeletons in common. What is meant to scare in the US and Canada has a significantly different interpretation in Mexico. The Day is not for sorrow, but for remembering and respecting the departed.
Many believe a 3000 year old Aztec ritual that was originally celebrated in August dedicated to Mictecacihuatl “Lady of the Dead" and Queen of the Underworld. The festivities were celebrated for a month and after the conquest, remained a persistent celebration much to the chagrin of the Spanish who considered the practice pagan and sacrilegious. So with a “if you can’t beat them join them” attitude the celebration was moved to the beginning of November to coincide with the Catholic All Saints and All Souls Day.
 Mictecacihuatl has relatively been reborn so to speak and recently morphed into Katrina, the “elegant one” the popular female skeleton Image with a wide brim hat. She was created in 1913 by Mexican printmaker José Guadalupe Posada and later replicated and made popular by famed Mexican muralist Diego Riviera in his mural “Dream of a Sunday in Alameda Park.” Katrina, the rich upper class lady does not escape death; it comes to all of us, the rich and poor.  
Death, the great equalizer; a natural part of our existence. This is Day of the Dead. Not to be feared by children or commercialized by Hallmark. It is a time to honor the life and passage of loved ones.
Last year my husband Bill and I spent Novemer 2, theDay of the Dead in the Morelia, the Capital city of the State of Michoacán in the center of Mexico.  Michoacán is an interesting place to celebrate this particular day. Patzquaro is known for its revelry, Morelia for its captivating “Katrina” statues and the highlands as being the birth place of the monarch butterflies. Most of Mexico’s ancient cultures, the Toltec, Aztecs and Zapotecs to name a few, all believed that the butterfly was the rebirth or reincarnation of souls.
We walked about Morelia’s Centro or city core and were amazed at the displays and beds of marigolds everywhere. There was joviality in the air as we strolled by tiny park benches and down large pedestrian walkways. Vendors sold cookies and cakes with skulls or skeletons. The sugar skulls appeared most often with bight accents for the eyes – some red and blue. Children would be given these skulls as a treat, often with their name printed on the forehead.
Store after store had displays and Katrina mannequins. Restaurants had special menus or” living statues” or should I say living skeletons entertaining and enticing potential customers to enter their establishment.
As much as the mood was playful, urban and charming in Morelia, the neighboring city of Patzquaro was somber and reflective. Patzquaro is Morelia’s Indian cousin, so celebrations, fiestas and lifestyles are always somewhat different. Here in this Indian Colonial city, the mood was far more personal. While the rabble-rousers, tourists and cameras went to Janitzo, the Island on the lake, the focus of the event for this city was the graveyard just outside of town.
We walked inside the walled Pantheon and with a somber demeanor, we walked the grounds that had been decorated and visited the night before. The cemetery was crowded with loved ones who talked in whispers to each other. Candles had burned all night and left ponds of wax on the graves and pathways. The ground was a carpet of marigolds with little brown patches of earth between the graves. The air was heavy with incense, and duty. Love and respect.
People were sitting on the ground or standing at the gravesite of a departed. Talking. Mumbling. Music rang out from another corner of the yard; an old love song. There were full bottles of tequila, letters and of course an overwhelming abundance of flowers. These are a few of their favorite things.
And more marigolds than you have ever seen. The same color as the church in Saint Cristobol de las Casas in Chiapas. A golden yellow; almost orange.
It was a moving experience not a cultural one. I told Bill I wanted to be buried in Mexico next to a grave of someone who had a big family. I would like to hear the mariachis and touch the flowers every year.

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