“Within/Without”
My heart is bolstered with kindling
stripped from hearts my own heart has shared
shavings with. Strike love into burn:
the only action that matters.
~jl
We arrived at Casa Colonial in Oaxaca late Sunday evening. This trip was planned long before the ship went down. For years, Mija has been encouraging me to join one of the Art Tours she leads in Oaxaca with the Multimedia artist, Michael deMeng. One in February for Carnaval and one in October for Dia de los Muertos. I’m here as a photographer for the tour. (I’ll share more about the workshops and our experience on the tour after it starts on Saturday.)
I grew up in the military, so I moved a lot as a kid. Less than many military kids, but more than most people. I’ve lived in Eugene, Oregon for the last 30 years, and the Pacific Northwest come to feel like home to me. I feel safest when I’m surrounded by trees and close to water. Eugene boasts two major rivers, the Willamette and the McKenzie, and the Pacific Ocean is just an hour’s drive away.
The last place I lived with my family, though, was in Hawaii, on O’ahu, where I spent all four years of high school. The last time I truly felt at home with my family was in Aiea, just above Pearl Harbor. Although my parents are living in Oregon now, the folks I consider “lifelong friends” still live in Hawaii.
When I go back to Hawaii to visit, the cloying embrace of the humidity as I step off the airplane instantly welcomes me Home.
It was already dark when Mija and I arrived at the Casa. We’d been traveling for over 24 hours, including an 11 hour layover in Houston that is better left undiscussed. We went straight to bed and slept for 12 hours. When we woke and scrambled to the dining room for breakfast just before they closed the kitchen, the weariness of travel instantly dissolved from my body.
It could have been the pouring rain. It was more likely the familiarity of the trees, flowers, and plants at the Casa. I immediately felt at Home.
We had a delicious breakfast of fresh papaya, pineapple, melons, and bananas with yogurt, and spent an easy day wandering around Centro, just… taking it in. The rain kept at it on and off. We ducked into cafes and museums on our way out and back to lunch.
The weariness may have been gone, but we were both still tired, so we made our way back to the Casa in time for dinner, and decided to call it an early night. And then the fireworks started, followed briefly by the clarinets, horns, and drums of the marching bands. Parades were marching through the streets just blocks from the Casa. So much for early to bed.
As a military brat whose dad was often in the Marine Corps Honor Guard, I’ve been to A LOT of parades in my life. I’ve never been to anything like this parade. In addition to the float, there were groups of women carrying baskets representing their villages. There were at least three marching bands. There were lights, fireworks, giant puppets… And everyone was dancing and moving along with the parade. It was just a couple of blocks long. To call it a joyous affair would be an understatement.
This was on Monday, October 20, almost two weeks before Dia de los Muertos! (I’ll spend more time on Dia de los Muertos a little later.)
This was my first night in Oaxaca. I was swept up in the celebratory Joy of the parade like I’ve never felt before. I mentioned the transitory nature of “Home” for me. As we walked back to the Casa after the parade continued down the road past the Basílica de Nuestra Señora de la Soledad, I was surprised by how emotional I was about the experience.
Home has come to be defined by the people I love who live there. Home is where my people are. To witness three to four generations of families participating in this, one of many parades that will happen over the next couple of weeks, parades that happen every year in celebration of, and preparation for, their beloved ancestors to return to this world was a powerfully moving experience.
When I think of all of the places I’ve lived, and all of the people whose lives have touched and enriched mine, people whose lives I’ve also touched, the whole concept of life and death expands beyond my ability to comprehend. It made me think about how disconnected so many of us are from the people we call family. Not just because they’ve passed on to the next world, but because we live so distant from each other, or are no longer actively in each other’s lives.
It’s not just life and death that separates us.
In Oaxaca, they set aside weeks to prepare for this celebration. They also start celebrating before the day even happens. The city is in the beginning stages of decorations. Every day the streets and shops and museums become more exuberant with their displays, more prepared for the veil between life and death to be lifted.
This happens every year. It’s not Hallmark Holiday with capitalist trappings. It is a way of living with each other in community. Whether one chooses to participate in the many parades, or go to the fireworks displays, or engage in ceremonies, the entire community is transformed every year to welcome their loved ones back to the world of the living. Families and friends join together in celebration of their loved ones and each other.
I know there is no such thing as a perfect society. There is no perfect way to live together. I have no illusions here. Oaxaca, and Mexico, just like every other city and country is full of calamity and struggle.
Happiness is not a goal we can ever achieve. The pursuit of happiness is an intention that drives our actions.
I can’t help but think this kind of celebratory connection with our loved ones and community is a positive action in the right direction. Even if it only lasts for two weeks out of the year.
Hasta luego.