Day of the Dead

Day of the Dead - or Dia de los Muertos - is my favorite holiday in San Francisco. For the last decade, it has always meant an evening of ritualized facepainting and celebrating at my friend Deborah's house, followed by a candlelit, incense-heavy procession through the Mission district, accompanied by drumming and a collection of people celebrating the full circle of life. A few years ago, my mom was able to join in the celebration, and I was so grateful to get the chance to share it with her.



Different cultures and traditions weave through San Francisco, sometimes revealing themselves in great bursts of brilliance, accessible to all who are interested. Sitting here in Bozeman, I feel the loss of Dia de los Muertos, a tradition that wasn't my by birthright, but became deeply meaningful to me. In fact, I feel more connected to it than to the ritualized reading of the All Saint's Day list of the dead that I was raised with in the cathedral that I grew up sitting, whispering, kneeling, and playing in. Though All Saints' Day's list of the dead was sacred and revered - even as a child I understood that - it was buttoned up and formal, inaccessible.Visiting the altars at Dia De Los Muertos in San Francisco, I could feel death, sometimes welcomed after a long rich life, sometimes hated for stealing away before anyone was ready. I felt life's richness.

Washington National Cathedral

Being here, I've realized that there's no room for complacency. No one is going to make my altar - or my procession - for me. I haven't met a Pagan who is going to lead a celebration for the solstices or the equinoxes. It's my turn, and I as ready as I can be. We couldn't make sugar skulls for Dia de los Muertos this year, but we made skull cookies.

Yesterday, I took a near-impossible Bikrim yoga class and by the time shavasana, or corpse pose, came around, I about melted into it. Completely at peace, exhausted and full, I thought of my sweet grandmother who is ready to be relieved of her physical body. I love her so much, and I am so afraid of a world without her. I know she is exhausted and full, and I pray for peace to come to her.

I love you, Mommom.