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.
A party is in order. An artist has completed his masterpiece—an ornate railing for our stairs—and for that there must be an unveiling and celebration. Coinciding with this is the arrival of my birthday, so our home will be set for a “fiesta” this Friday. A small affair with people who have made our move to Mexico a happy one. Mexican folk with a few Americans sprinkled in. Our realtor John, an American who was instrumental in our purchasing the house is very busy with sales activities on the coast and had to beg off.
Several guests of note: Manuel Omar Rito Cortes moved some of our essential belongings from Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA to Oaxaca. He speaks fluent English and also helped us to buy our car here in Mexico. His wife is a dentist and the couple have two children. Omar owns Oaxaca Exprience Tours, but when business slowed drastically because of Covid, he stripped his tour bus of the seats and made it into a moving van.
Mayolo Martinez Galindo is a gem of a person, and very talented artisan. He says he is happy we arrived because we are intellectuals and artists. He bonded with us immediately and we are soul mates now. Mayolo does not speak English and neither do I speak Spanish, but we bonded nonetheless. Thankfully, Amy knows rudimentary Spanish. Mayolo helped us register and receive our first Pfizer covid shot. He helped us put the electric service in our name. He has made us arched curtain rods for over our arched windows, has made window screens, and most importantly created a magnificent railing for our stairway that is at the center of our home. He imbues his work with spiritual imagination. We have named our home Casa Venado, or “Deer House” because we live on Camino Cuatro Venados, or Four Deer Road. Mayolo put deer heads at the top of our curtain rods, and very special ones in the design of his ornate railing. They have symbols that are meaningful to us. One deer head is inscribed in Spanish “Amor, Steven and Amy," and the other is inscribed “Por Siempre,” or, Forever.
Salomon Garcia Moreno has lived in our house as a caretaker over the years. He had a special relationship with the German agronomist woman who owned our property. He is married with four children. His village is about three hours away, where he is head of an agricultural cooperative that grows coffee, and special herbs and spices like vanilla, cardamon, ginger and more. He brings us delicious coffee, "miel," or honey, and sacks of compost. Today he brought me a container of earthworms.
When our house sold, Salomon received a parcel of land where he is building a small home near ours. He shares with us everything we need to know about surviving here. He speaks only Spanish, but we get by, and are able to make sensewith each other. Entirely honest, he has a big heart and is gracious, even going to the TelMex offices with us downtown to register the internet service in our name.
I am a plant savant and so is he, so we are symbiotic from the start.
Purge. This is what comes to mind frequently these days as Amy and I go through possessions, deciding what stays with us and what goes. Fortunately, we both are veterans of purges from before our marriage a couple years ago. Between the two of us, we have more than we want to take to live in Mexico. So we pack only the most meaningful books, and give away or sell those we may have attachment to but don’t quite reach the highest level of “essential”. This is the same with everything . . . there is some emotional wrenching—like when I just gave away a 40 year old jade plant. It had been with me since before I had children. In fact, it felt like I was giving my child away.
At one point, I gave up expecting certainty about the timeframe for moving. We haven’t bought the home yet, and I expected to have done so by now. But it looks as though this week it will happen. It is not like we are buying a house in our neighborhood. It is in another country. Many things could go wrong. So we have been working carefully with our American realtor who is also a Mexican citizen. His partner is a Mexican lawyer. The owner is a German senior citizen, living in Germany.
We must obtain a permanent residence visa from the Mexican consulate. A lot of paperwork there. Complicating matters is that Amy’s passport has her maiden name, but she changed it after our marriage. So she decided to apply for another passport with her new name.
Then there is issue of moving our possessions. The border is closed.
I give it all to God.
Spirit comes to me and gives encouragement. That is enough.
People ask if I am having difficulty adjusting to “being back.” Not really, except that for the past year I did not live anywhere longer than three weeks, and now, I have a street address again. I see with new eyes, and clearly notice that American society is largely based on consumerism, and status based on acquisition. Every day we are barraged with advertising that tells us we need to be better off in life, and subsequently most people think that they are falling short, because they do not have everything that “experts” insist that they need. God forbid if you do not have a house and car, and wander from place to place with barely any possessions. Maybe I am an anomaly, but it is why I could relate so easily to everyone everywhere I went. I have no pictures in my head of how things “should” be, but what life gives me in present moments is incredible. What more do I want? Often, the answer is nothing because the intangible greatness that lies within each heartbeat is entirely satisfying. Maybe this yearning to live purely in moments is what drove me to travel as I did. Perhaps, in the end, I felt trapped and harassed in a consumer-oriented society and wanted more than stale offerings. Now, I am in the game again, but oddly feel detached. In my studio, beautiful things that I collected overseas surround me; wooden sailing ships, hand-knotted silk rugs, paintings made entirely from butterfly wings, and more. If I do not sell them quickly, it is okay because they give me pleasure. Further, they remind me of the greater world . . . and connect me to other moments, earlier in THE DREAM. Next week, people will begin to come to look at these things, and I will enjoy sharing the beautiful objects from far off places. Sometimes, I will have an intimate story to tell. To see some of the items I collected, click, Steven Boone’s World Bazaar.
