#basically the very idea of Mexican folk catholicism | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theramblingonesie · 7 years ago

Text

Let’s Talk About Death, Baby

I’m writing this blog post-Dia de los Muertos, preparing for my return back to the U.S. for a quick(ish) visit. I can see light again, but I’m not fully back above ground. To say that Mexico has never been gentle with me would be a lie. She has been incredibly kind and giving. But like a mother with tough love, she has also mercilessly kicked my ass for my own good.

When I book trips to different locations, most often I fantasize about how dreamy it’ll be. I can’t wait to roll around in the nature, the parties, the exploration, the rest, and new and wonderful experiences. But when I book a ticket to return to Mexico, my immediate reaction is fear. Mexico doesn’t let me get away with anything. You want to explore and understand the dark sides of humanity? You want to teach this material? You want to be a part of the revolution? Then you need to live it, you need to die in it, and you need to be reborn with the strength to hold it. She cuts and cuts away at me until I’m emotionally strung up and bleeding out (sometimes physically; I’ve been known to get my period either early or late to line up with my visits so I definitely bleed at least once here). Don’t wanna see that thing right there? Too bad; LOOK AT IT. Don’t wanna know that stuff about that person? WHOOPS, some things you can’t unknow!! Think you’re doing sooo great, self? Nope, you’re not, you’re very flawed and you’re gonna eat your own shit and cry about it every day until you figure out how to deal with it.

Cool.

That sounds so dramatic! I know. I think that all the time. You know how much more I’d love to be fluffy like more of my friends? You know how much I’d like to be able to not care? Believe me, the isolation feels pretty awful most of the time. But this is the contract I negotiated from the first moment I conceived of The Scarlet Tongue Project. This project was born out of Mexico, and continues to grow there. I have been navigating the underworld since its conception, and the belief that I have a choice at this point is laughable (cry-laugh) illusion. She lets me leave when I’d like, yet with the understanding that once I catch my breath and grab a glass of water, the work will continue. We’re not done. I’m not sure when it’ll be done, but I feel confident that it’s not forever.

So who is “She”? I use this pronoun when I refer to Mexico, because to me she’s Mother. That seems like such a strange thing to say since I’m not Mexican, yet somehow this is our relationship. But within her vast richness, I have formed a humbling relationship with Santa Muerte. Who is Santa Muerte? Her history is a brilliant and deep one of compassion and perseverance through colonialism. I’ll attempt to tell a quick story and some history, but I’m piecing this together from several sources and am likely to be wrong, so please do your own research!

Santa Muerte, or Our Lady of Holy Death, is a Mexican folk saint. She also goes by other names such as Lady of the Shadows, Lady of the Night, Lady of the Seven Powers, White Lady, Black Lady, Skinny Lady, and Bony Lady. While she is honored today in modern Catholic culture, her roots are traced back to pre-Columbian times. Her exact origins are debated by historians, but research finds that Mesoamerica held a reverence for death across many cultures and religions. She is frequently related back to the Aztec Goddess, Mictecacihuatl, Lady of Death. She ruled alongside Mictlāntēcutli, King of the Dead, in Mictlan (Aztec underworld). One creation myth tells the story of the deity Quetzalcoatl (“feathered serpent” in Nahuatl) descending into Mictlan upon the dawning of the 5th sun (present era) in order to restore humankind on earth from the bones of those who have gone before. In Aztec belief, bones were like seeds: everything that dies goes back into the earth, and from that, new life is reborn. Quetzacoatl traces the path of the sun down through the nine realms of death until he reaches the palace of the Lord and Lady of Death. There, he begs Mictlantecutli for the bones so he may repopulate the earth. Skeptical of this idea, the Lord asks what’s in it for him. Quetzacoatl assures him that humans will, of course, be mortal, and that all bones will be returned to Mictlan. Lady Death seems pleased by this, and convinces the King to say okay. Through a series of tests that Quetzacoatl cheats his way through, Mictlantecutli agrees and lets him leave the underworld with the bones. As he walks out, the Lord and Lady begin to feel that they’d been deceived, so they send their servants to dig a hole for him to fall in, and birds to peck the bones. Quetzacoatl manages to escape, though with broken bones, and this is why people are built of all different shapes and sizes. The remaining bones were ground up in a bowl and sprinkled with the blood of the gods to restore them to life, and distributed across the land by Cihuacoatl (“Woman Serpent”). Thus, the story tells us the belief that humankind was born from the penance of the gods.

Whoa! Intense!

Because many pre-Columbian cultures often honored death as a natural part of the cycle of life, it was very common to pray to Lady Death for Her compassion and that she watches over loved ones when they pass. In Europe, skeletal figures were honored during times of sickness as symbols of overcoming death. The Catholic Church referred to them as “Holy Death”, as the form of death of one who has fully confessed their sins. “Holy Death” came to be known as female, as she was derived from the Roman Parcae, or The Fates. The three Parcae determined the destiny of every mortal and immortal. The first was Nona, who spun the thread of life on her spindle. The second was Decima, who measured the thread of life. The third was Morta, who cut the thread of life and chose the way a person would die. When European culture ravaged Mesoamerica, the beliefs merged under the guise of Catholicism, and we arrived at Santa Muerte. She is depicted in the European form as a cloaked skeleton with a scythe, but she is honored and prayed to more in the form of her pre-Columbian roots.

As death is not only accepted, but honored and celebrated in modern day Mexico, naturally is Santa Muerte a highly regarded saint. People don’t only wait until funerals or big celebrations like Dia de Los Muertos. She is prayed to year-round for a variety of reasons- health, luck, protection, love, etc. But why is a death saint so popular? One largely held belief is that in death we are all equal, and therefore the Mother of Death has compassion for all humans. She is not biased. You don’t need to follow Catholic values of “purity” or “goodness” to ask for her favor. In death, we are all her children, and she will look over us all. Because of this equality, many criminals and gangs also appeal to her for her good fortune. This has created a strong shadow over the Saint, and Her reputation in modern times registers great fear and danger in many people’s minds.

Important side note: If you don’t believe in this stuff, don’t worry. Believe in Saint Applesauce Kangaroo for all I care. I’m truly not trying to convert anyone. Just take this as an interesting story and cultural study.

Other Important side note for witches: Be very clear about which form you are calling a spirit or deity in. Over time, the Church and patriarchal fears have perverted many Beings into demons, and being vague in your invocations can draw them in that state. This was a very valuable lesson a beloved passed on to me.

Back to our regularly scheduled blog.

When I first got into all things magic-related, my 101 training was understanding the cycles of life. Life, Death, Rebirth. Basic. Unavoidable. Yet this concept plays itself out within life itself, and it’s not always literal. While in relationship with a Death saint, I had to figure out what that meant pretty quickly so that I didn’t drown.

Okay, well I was gonna drown anyway.

But I wanted to know what the point of my drowning was so I didn’t miss the learning opportunity.

When I want to consider the multifaceted nature of death, my mind often brings up the image of the Death card from the Tarot. The following excerpt is a basic description stolen from Biddytarot.com:

Death is symbolic of the ending of a major phase or aspect of your life that may bring about the beginning of something far more valuable and important. You must close one door in order to open another. You need to put the past behind you and part ways, ready to embrace new opportunities and possibilities. It may be difficult to let go of the past at times, but you will soon see how important it is so that you can bring renewal and transformation into your life. If you resist these necessary endings, you may experience pain, both emotionally and physically but if you exercise your creative imagination and visualize a new possibility, you allow more constructive patterns to emerge.

Similarly, Death indicates a time of significant transformation, change and transition. You need to profoundly transform yourself and clear away any of the old in order to bring in the new. Any change at this time should be welcomed as a positive, cleansing, transformative force in your life. The death and clearing away of limiting factors can open the door to a wider, more satisfying experience of life.

The Death card contains elements of a sudden and unexpected change. You may feel as though you are caught in the path of sweeping change and cannot escape its effects. Though the immediate thought is toward the negative, an end need not mean failure. The loss could be a series of unexpected surprises that bring an end to a period of turmoil or problems. You feel you can no longer go along with the status quo and want things to change radically. Many changes are going to take place to enable a new direction to emerge.

Finally, Death is an indication that you need to learn to let go of unhealthy attachments in your life to pave the way to a fuller, more fulfilled life of deeper meaning and significance. Death teaches you to let go of outworn and outgrown ways of life and move forward. This is a perfect card to use to break a bad habit or pattern of behaviour. This is a time of eliminating excess and cutting out what is not necessary in your life. This may be a good time to purge old belongings, memories and ‘baggage’ that is getting in your way.

For me, this is coming up in an intense way with my lifelong history of self-sabotage. As I progress further into living a fulfilling life, it’s clear that those old patterns will no longer do. Unfortunately (fortunately), in order to undo a lifetime of damage, I need to figuratively die. How the hell am I supposed to accomplish ANYTHING with all of these crippling beliefs? And so I ask myself every day, probably as some Yogi tea tag once suggested:

“what must I let die today so something else can live?”

Because I’m done. I’m all set. I’m ready to get off this ride. This is not working anymore.

For the first two weeks of this current trip to Mexico, I had my ass handed to me, as if I thought that wouldn’t happen. I knew it was part of the death process. My inner fears and blocks were coming up in a heavy way, and Mexico was forcing me to sit in it. No matter how many times I cried uncle, she wouldn’t let up. Just because I wanted to be done didn’t mean I was actually done. I felt a deep loneliness that would not quit and only got worse until it became impossible to turn away from. I was being asked to look at it and really be present with it. I thought about Santa Muerte, and how she’s a Saint to all, light and shadow, good and bad. She’s the mother who will hold every child and kiss their forehead. I considered Her, and what would happen if I just held these “dark” pieces like children, without judgement. As soon as it did that, things began to move. Prior to arriving here, I had a feeling lodged in my throat that I needed to cry. I felt like I needed to grieve something, but I didn’t know what, and nothing was moving. So when I felt this movement upon being present with loneliness, I realized that what I was trying to grieve was the closing of this recent chapter of my life. But no, not yet. My body and mind were still hanging on for dear life out of fear, so I still couldn’t quite emotionally release.

The tiny movement led me to sit in ritual for three days leading up to Dia de Los Muertos, figuring I’d be a bad witch if I didn’t take advantage of the thin veil and presence of the ancestors. Every night I worked to bring healing to family patterns and karma, which brought me even greater understanding around why I do what I do now as an adult. On the third day, I snapped. So many frustrations, insecurities and conflicts came to a head all at once, and my heart cracked open. The grieving I had wanted to do finally came out, and it flooded me so intensely that I’m surprised I didn’t levitate. It felt like an exorcism. I was contorted and pleading with the universe to let it all go. When the crying stopped, I didn’t feel refreshed. I didn’t really feel anything besides empty. I had strength, but not the kind of strength where you can build something. It was the strength to say “no more”; to allow a container to hold the presence of death.

In that moment, I no longer had fear of the unknown. I crossed over my pain and into acceptance. Understanding that the pain of loss was what held me in fear, the absence of it made newness feel welcome.

This, of course, was temporary. However, when you know that a feeling is possible, you learn how to channel your energy to get back there. I set out on an adventure to Guerrero, where Katia had been invited to perform at the closing night gala for the Latin American Body Piercing conference. She knew I was hoping to start a piercing apprenticeship in the spring, and we’ve been talking about collaborating on a performance for a while, so she was generous enough to invite me to come along with her and be a part of the show. The organizers of the event were incredible, and they hooked us up with a hotel and food for the week. When I started out on the road I was feeling a bit fragile from the emotional explosion earlier, but still excited to get to the event.

After a sleazy, predatory Uber ride in 40 minutes of traffic jams, a junky trying to open my door and get in the car with me to beg for money (that my Uber driver just shrugged at), and a 2.5 hr bus ride that turned into 4 hours of switchbacks and the kind of nausea that makes you black out, I arrived in Taxco. I’m not sure how I got to my room because I was so disoriented, but I’m so grateful to the taxi driver for taking pity on me and offering to help me in my wet noodle state. Once the nausea subsided, I went exploring in the hotel to find food and the rest of the event. I happened to make it in time for the last 15 minutes of the last class of the day, which was on genital piercings. Oh good, I made it just in time for dick pics! The comic relief lifted my mood, and afterwards I was able to grab dinner with some friendly folks before promptly returning to my room to pass the eff out.

Once I got into bed, I made sure to say, “thank you” to myself. I don’t think we do this enough. I reviewed the entire day and the physical trials I had been through: the cortisol attack from several panic attacks, running around the city doing errands, packing, climbing up and down stairs carrying multiple bags, finding food, getting sick, and navigating my needs and reservations in a foreign language. I got through it. Thank you, body, for getting us through that! I thought about the intense emotions of the day, and how I navigated those without losing myself. Thank you, body, for getting us through that, too! I thanked the universe for keeping me safe. Being in the Uber was really scary. Being a small woman traveling alone at night to one of the more dangerous states in Mexico, who clearly isn’t local and doesn’t have a solid grasp on the language, is really scary. All of that, plus being out-of-my-gourd sick at the same time. I would be foolish not to count my lucky stars. I considered for a few minutes that perhaps I sell myself short on how strong I actually am.

If this were fiction, I’d tell you that I fell softly and deeply to sleep. That’s not true, though. Everyone was partying and I didn’t really get much rest, but I still woke up feeling pretty good about embracing the day. I took some classes, did some work, and met some rad peeps. Katia was finally able to make it to town, so we met up and went exploring around the convention together. It was a good space to take my transforming self for a test drive. Could I be in a new space with new people, and not lead with my sexuality? Could I feel worthy of taking up space in a social environment? Would people accept me just for being a nice person, not because I could do something for them? If I was rejected, could I allow it to wash over me and not take it so personally? Could I find pauses in my day where I had relief from social anxiety all together, and just focus on my work and taking classes? Who am I without some belief about how I’m supposed to be presenting? Is it okay to not give a damn about someone’s ranking, and just walk up and chat up anyone interesting, because human interaction just shouldn’t be that complicated?

As the days went by, I played with those questions and found mixed results. It’s clear that I’m still adjusting to myself, which naturally comes with ups and downs, celebrations and discoveries. I got my period on Halloween, which was a bit surprising because it was early. Even though I was in a bit of pain, I still embraced it with excitement. The morning after it started, I took a class on Mesoamerican body modification rituals. Naturally, we covered a lot about blood sacrifice, which felt rather appropriate at the time. I was pretty psyched to be able to make my own blood offering for the three solid days of Los Muertos celebrations. One of the greatest points of this class, however, was the conversation about pain. People in the body modification industry understand pain differently than the average person, I think. They work with it so frequently and intimately that they learn how to use it as a jump-off point to altered or transformative states, and how to hold space for others who want to enter that space, as well. The lecturer discussed how in these Mesoamerican cultures, pain through body modification was the cost for communing with the gods or deeper selves, and how this is also symbolic of pain in the emotional body’s transitions and experiences. I allowed myself to sink into my cramps and really reflect on my current experience with death. I was still in it, but hearing this information released more of the fight from me. I settled deeper and embraced it more in gratitude. I gave myself permission to keep pushing in the areas that would bring me greater strength, but to also gracefully turn down opportunities that did not feel in line with my desires or energy levels.

Time went by too fast, and all of a sudden it was already the closing gala where Katia and I would perform. The concept of the piece was to ask the audience, “how can we be so occupied with making body art while there are so many dead and missing bodies in Mexico?” Katia would act as a severed head on a banquet table, while I walked around as an overly-sexualized and objectified embodiment of superficial desire and distraction, feeding the crowd bites of food that represented different territories, while the dead laid out “unnoticed”. In the end, Katia began to speak, chanting a prayer to the dead as she was pierced to draw blood as an offering. The needles were replaced with ferns, representing rebirth.

It was very powerful, and an absolute honor to share the stage with such a master. Not only is she a master performer, but she was also the first female body piercer in the modern Mexican piercing world. So many lifetimes and countless stories within that woman. So naturally, when she came down hard on me after the show, I listened.

Okay, I argued a little. But I came around.

When she asked me how I felt, I mentioned that I had focused so much on being her assistant that I forgot to prepare myself for the performance, and that I started off smaller than I should have been. She laid into me about ego traps as a performer, and the importance of not competing. We were lost in translation for a good part of that, I think, because we were sort of talking about separate things. But I still took time and reflected on her words. I always tell myself that I’m not competitive. I don’t try to outshine or take things from other people. If anything, I always try to shrink or devalue myself to avoid conflict, which often leads to bitter feelings. I realized that this, too, is a side of competition. I considered again Santa Muerte’s general, non-biased compassion, and how this could apply to navigating my own shadows. For every trait I say I don’t have, do I actually possess its opposite, and therefor I still end up feeding it? If an undesirable trait is merely repressed and not actually cleansed from the system, does it simply manifest in other forms that could be perceived as other things but is actually the same?

I think yes.

I took this concept and applied it to all parts of my life and all of my fears. I considered my overwhelming fear of failed art, and pondered the idea that perhaps there is even no such thing as a bad performance, that every expression has a valuable impact. Can you be so kind that you’re controlling? Can you be so selfless that you’re greedy?

More death.

More and more death.

On the bus ride back to Mexico City (now with 100% vitamin Dramamine), I contemplated my endless quest for betterment, and how I feel like I can never quite get there. I thought about a conversation Katia had had with another piercer about how it’s impossible to expect any human to be fully pure. I thought about my Westernized mindset, how “if I just take this pill” or “if I just do this thing”, everything will be instantly cured. I overanalyzed myself to sleep, combing and picking over every interaction, every thought, and every fear over the last week. I needed to understand all of it, because I thought that maybe if I did, I could finally figure out how to complete the process and move forward. But when I got back to my apartment, the loneliness crept back in. The anger, resentments and anxiety all came flooding back in. What the hell was missing?? I thought I figured it out! Two days in a row, I pulled the Death card in the Tarot. I felt like it was mocking me.

“GAH! I KNOW! I’M TRYING! DO YOU HAVE AN INSTRUCTION MANUAL??”

I sunk into despair and decided to call my therapist for backup. I needed a death midwife to help me through. She laughed with me a bit, and reminded me that I’m not supposed to know, and I’m not supposed to control it. I’m supposed to surrender; that surrender is the only ticket to death, and therefor rebirth. Oddly enough, I was comforted by this reminder. Duh, right? Reflecting back on the past few months, and then the past couple weeks, anytime I experienced genuine change or movement was when I threw my hands up and surrendered. It’s hard, and it doesn’t usually happen until I’m completely at my wit’s end, but I need to let go. I want to let go. I have old attachments and perceived obligations that I’m terrified to lose or fuck up, but so long as I hold on, I’ll keep being stuck playing this game on loop. I’m so tired of overcoming. I’m just ready to live.

In two days I fly back to the United States. I have no idea how I’m supposed to feel or what to expect. I have no idea what coming back to Mexico will be after that. While my childish side wants to say that I give up, I don’t necessarily like that wording because it implies defeat. There’s immense power and hope in surrendering. I’m gonna keep working on that.

0 notes