All Soul’s Day

These three days, October 31, Nov. 1 & 2 have always seemed strange, beautiful and mysterious to me. Particularly today, All Soul’s Day, the day when the living remember the dead, particularly the dead who may have been forgotten and who have no prayers said for them. Catholics believe that if a person dies in a state of sin — not grievous sin but just ordinary sin — they cannot go straight to heaven. They have to spend some time in purgatory where they rely on the prayers of the living to purge their sins and prepare them for heaven. However, if a person doesn’t have living loved ones who will perform this function for them, they can be stuck in purgatory for a long time. Thus the Feast of All Souls evolved.

Among the ancient Celts this time was known as Samhain, when the walls between the worlds grow thin and it is possible to be in communication with those on the other side. For Wiccans this is a deeply significant time when many believe they cross over into other worlds. I have no problem with that. I know a thing or two about moving back and forth among worlds.

In Mexico and much of South America this is called El Dia de los Muertes, the day of the dead. The festivities that surround it are colorful, bizarre and yet beautiful in their own, unique way. Altars are constructed in family homes to the dead of each family and it is a time for prayer and also for celebration for those who have passed over into a better world. I was once in a Mexican border town for this particular festival and there is something cathartic in seeing people parade through the streets dressed as skeletons and carrying pictures of their own dead in order to honor them.

New Orleans is a city famous for its dead. Last night I was reading one of Andrei Codrescu’s essays about taking his visitors to Lafayette Cemetery for coffee in the morning, sitting on tombstones and chatting aware that all around them were little cement houses filled with the remains of people who had once filled New Orleans’ streets. The Victorians in this country had quite a deep fascination with cemeteries. Some of the most beautiful public places in our country were built during the Victorian era. Here in Gloucester Oak Grove Cemetery, just a few blocks up the street, was designed by Frederick Law Olmstead. And then there is my own cemetery sitting right outside my window. I love this cemetery - the oldest Unitarian cemetery in America.

Some years back thanks to an article in Sculpture Review I got interested in cemetery art, particularly the statues of beautiful young women wracked with grief that are often found in old cemeteries. For an entire year I carried a camera with me as I drove around New England to photograph funerary statues. I still have those photos somewhere but others have done it much better than I. David Robinson has a beautiful book of photographs called Saving Graces filled with black and white photos of weeping beauties.

I thought a lot about why it was always beautiful young women who wept for the dead in these cemeteries and finally realized that young women — exquisitely beautiful and ripe with the potential for motherhood — are the antithesis of death, they are the symbol of new life. Plus, well, they are beautiful.

Death is inescapable. People have been trying to figure out ways to avoid it since the beginning of time. So far none that I know of have succeeded. So today we celebrate the Day of the Dead, a time to remember that life is beautiful and fleeting. If this day reminds us of anything it is to enjoy, savor, relish the now. Momento mori...

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