All the Beloveds

Yesterday was All Saints' Day, and, in Mexico, the Day of the Dead. A few days before, we made our annual ofrenda in our home, and each evening, we've lit the candles, eaten our dinner, and sat with our dear departed ones. I'm surprised how comforting and welcome this ritual has become, connecting us both to our friends and family, and to Mexico, which we miss very much too. The tradition is to put little offerings of favorite foods or drinks or pastimes in front of the photos of each person to encourage them to return to be with the living for the evening, so the whole thing ends up becoming poignant, quirky, and personal. I didn't have marigolds, which are a traditional part of everyone's altar in Mexico: the color and pungent scent are supposed to help guide the dead on their journey. But we did have orange zinnias, sunflowers, dahlias, cacti and herbs,copal incense, Mexican pottery and textiles, and small reminders of each person.

And because my sketchbooks are becoming a visual diary of my life that feel more and more significant to me, I decided to do a drawing of the central section of the ofrenda too. What a complicated and busy sketch it turned out to be! I liked the black-and-white drawing, but the color made it all make more sense, and the process of doing it was one more way of connecting to the people and the tableau we had made.

I know I've been scarce around here. We're working on cleaning, reorganizing and downsizing both our home and our studio. We're keeping the studio for one more year, but it's been emptied of more than half of its contents. And I admit to struggling to keep my mood up, as the days have grown shorter and colder, the pandemic continues, and I've had very little time for writing, music, or art, let alone meditation: the things that center and ground me. Now that we've reached November and life has moved mostly indoors, I actually feel better in the coziness and warmth of home, and seeing that there's some light at the end of both personal and global tunnels. We're gradually beginning to be more social, to take public transportation and do a bit more out in the city, and starting to think about traveling somewhere else again. I'm hoping to be able to write more here, too, soon.

 

 

Comments

[Mimosa Shah]

Likewise, dear Beth. There is a faint light at the end of these personal and global tunnels.

[am]

Your post today feels like a generous gift and for that I am grateful. I felt my heart open as I read it. Sending love always.

[Andrea Murphy]

Best wishes, Beth. I always appreciate your thoughtful and beautifully illustrated posts.

[Roderick Robinson]

As a result of a terrifying event my elder daughter - then quite young - sought comfort in marrying a man almost twenty years older (and divorcing him very quickly afterwards). He was a gentle, innnocent soul and didn't deserve such treatment. His memory has faded since but he's remembered for one interesting observation. Having wandered quietly round our house he said - offhandedly and without judgment - that there wasn't a single personal and/or family photograph on display anywhere. Perfectly true. Both my wife and I have returned at odd times to that brief sentence, wondering what it said about us. No useful answer has been forthcoming.

[Valerie]

Beth, I also stuggle with my mood in this cold weather. Your altar is so moving; many thanks for sharing it. r You mentioned missing Mexico....I wonder if you have any sketches or memories to post....one of my favorite places too.