The days approached steadily, as they do each year—filled with anticipation, hope, and a tinge of sadness. After all, Día de Muertos is a time to honor those we have “lost.” Yet nothing is ever truly lost—and that is why this celebration overflows with life in Mexico.
The fields of marigolds—cempasúchil, the flower of the dead—burst into golden bloom. Their color, like small suns, symbolizes the eternal cycle of life and light, guiding returning souls home with their glowing hue and pungent scent. Alongside them, the deep crimson cresta de gallo (cockscomb) blooms in velvety folds, representing the blood of life and the enduring vitality of spirit. Together they speak a language of remembrance—sun and heart, light and love intertwined.
Armfuls of flowers are carried to home altars and gravesites. Marigold petals spill across store entrances, and hotels glow with candles and color. Parades surge through the streets—comparsas of every kind—people of all ages marching, drumming, and laughing. Happiness abounds, as if the dead were truly alive again.
This year’s grand comparsa wound through the streets for over an hour, lined on both sides with cheering crowds. Bands played in wild rhythm, costumed marchers paraded alongside dancers balancing baskets of marigolds on their heads, and bright floats rolled past in a joyful burst of revelry.
3 min. video
From our village of San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, we drove into Oaxaca City to join the festivities and take part in our own small way. My camera, of course, was always in hand—this is a photographer’s dream come to life.
Our ofrenda
Barbara and Russ
By chance we met Barbara and Russ, a lovely couple visiting from Vermont who collect my artwork—a sweet coincidence amid the celebration. The festival draws to a close this evening, with a band playing at the Zócalo, the heart of town. Amy and I will meet our collector friends there, savoring the last notes of music before the candles fade and we begin to wait again—for next year’s return of the spirits.
One of the biggest events in the world, Dia de Muertos, has come and gone in Oaxaca. As always from the end of October to beginning of November, it was a phenomenal week of sights and sounds, tradition, jubilee and reverence.
Amy and I live outside of the city and usually stay at home most of the week. But during Dia de Muertos, we go to see events almost every day. This year, friends from the USA arrived to Oaxaca to enjoy the fanfare and we had the pleasure to meet them and share good times.
Día de Muertos in Oaxaca is a vibrant and deeply spiritual celebration honoring deceased loved ones. The city and villages transform with colorful altars (ofrendas), marigold flowers (cempasúchil), candles, incense, and offerings like food, drinks, and personal mementos. Processions, music, and community gatherings fill the streets. On November 1-2, families spend time in cemeteries where loved ones have been laid to rest. Graves are covered with flowers to honor and summon back the souls of the deceased.
(Street celebrations. About 5 min.)
I like going to the graveyards to see the transformations. I try to be extremely respectful about taking pictures. Our village cemetery becomes awash with vibrant orange cempasúchil and blood red cockscomb. It touches me deeply that not a grave goes unnoticed. All the buried folk have flowers thoughtfully placed on their grave to serve as remembrance.
(A visit to our village cemetery. About 2 3/4 min.)
Beyond the festivities, Día de Muertos reflects a profound connection to the cycle of life and death. It is a time to acknowledge mortality not with fear but with reverence, love, and gratitude. By inviting the spirits to return, families strengthen ties between the past, present, and future, celebrating life’s continuity and the enduring presence of ancestors in daily life.
Every so often in life we have a profound experience that awakens our sleeping soul and opens the gates of awe. On November 4th, at the end of the annual Dia de Muerto, or Day of the Dead celebration in Mexico, while Amy, her visiting sister Cari, and I were on our way home from Oaxaca we decided to stop at the cemetery in our village San Pedro Ixtlahuaca. The big gate was strewn with huge garlands of flowers as we walked into a sight that took my breath away. The entire graveyard had been cleaned and bouquets of flowers were everywhere⏤covering every grave. In all my life in the United States, I never saw anything like it.
As I walked I was almost brought to tears noticing that all the graves had been commemorated with flowers. In death, all had been forgiven and redeemed and nobody forgotten; including those from the distant past. I intuitively knew that it goes beyond remembering only the illustrious or the well-known; here, every soul is embraced by the warmth of recollection. Even the graves of those who led troubled lives or are unknown to many, are not forgotten.
By far, the most common flower is the marigold, known as “cempasúchil." In Mexico, they are not merely flowers; they are vibrant messengers bridging the gap between the living and departed. With golden hues seeming to echo the warmth of cherished memories, cempasúchil invite us to reflect on the interconnectedness of life and death. The air fills with their sweet aroma, supposedly to summon the spirits back to the world of the living.
For someone from a culture where death is often treated with solemnity and separation, Dia de Muertos in San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, serves as a gentle reminder that death, too, can be a celebration of life. A moment to acknowledge and honor those who came before us, recognizing the impact they had on our existence.
In a world often quick to overlook the marginalized, I felt touched walking over the extensive grounds with graves spanning the centuries, witnessing universal remembrance.
A touching and humbling experience.
In the presence of the marigold-strewn graves, I realize that the Day of the Dead is not just about remembering the departed; it's about embracing the cycle of life with gratitude. San Pedro Ixtlahuaca has taught me that in remembrance, there is a timeless beauty that transcends borders—a beauty that invites us to celebrate the vast intricacies of the human experience, both in life and in death.
For an American like me, it's a privilege to witness the beauty of this tradition and be a part of it—a communal embrace of the past, a recognition of shared humanity, and a poignant reminder that, in the tapestry of life and death, every thread contributes to the richness of the whole.
