Thinking about the day of the dead

And so another day of the dead comes, a day which is actually one for the living. For the dead are somewhere far beyond the reach of even our dreams, and there where moments are unmeasured there could be no All Souls Day. Perhaps, some of our dead are lost in the ecstatic contemplation of the Beautific Vision. Perhaps, some are in the throes of purgation as they pine for the blissful state of angels and saints. Wherever they are in that realm beyond the stars, do they think of us as we swarm into burial places with our candles and rosaries?

A poet imagining herself to have died declares: "I shall not see the sunrise/ I shall not feel the rain/ I shall not hear the nightingale sing on as if on pain…"

So what's the hazzle all about? Why the white-washed tombs and flowers and candles and clerics mouthing requiems here and there?

Tradition. It's the force that drives us to do what we do even sans reason and sense. It's the why and wherefore of communal happenings that define our perspectives and inspire our world view. Science may find it irrelevant, but to defy it makes one irreverent. Observed from season to countless seasons, the event becomes tightly ingrained in the mind such that when the occasion comes no one dares ask why. Some driven by the impulse to be rational have tried to set aside their forebears time-honored ways. They laugh and make fun of these but the price they pay is high: They become outsiders of their kind. And who among us Pinoys want to be a pariah.

And so on All Soul's Day we treak to the cemetery. It's not exactly a happy affair for the living always feel a kind of discomfort among the dead. But we have no choice. Almost every one visits the dead so why be left behind? We know of course that our loved ones we are visiting are not there. We see the spot where they lie, we mark the niche where they rest, but we know they are not there. For bones and dirt they never are and their spirit like all spirits can never die.

In Mark, the following lines appear: "Now about the resurrection of the dead, have you never reflected on the chapter of the burning bush in the book of Moses? God said to him: I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob. Now he is the God not of the dead but of the living…" Words from Jesus himself assuring us of a life after this one, and therefore encouraging us to be faithful to the tradition of honoring the dead, especially our old folks and other loved ones.

And where else shall we go but to the very place where we rested them? They may not be there but they are in us, for we are part of them, and through them we became. They may not be there to savor our offering of flowers and prayers and of our very presence, but at the back of our mind we feel that somewhere in the vast reaches of time and space there's a poll of consciousness that glories in what we are doing.

Honor your father and mother, says Jesus. As we elbow our way through the cemetery crowd, as we shell out our last centavo for our offerings, this is exactly what we are doing and God must be pleased. But we too are undoubtedly pleased with ourselves for despite the temptation to go somewhere else and enjoy we have taken the narrow road to spend some minutes with our departed. Is there a better choice? Indeed, for our peace of mind, there's now.

Guilt from the sin of omission corrodes the heart and destabilizes the senses. It's like a fickle rain slowly, ever slowly, spoiling the sparkle of one's sunshine from day to day. So why not join the crowd and come out clean?

Besides, who wants to be a lonely dead on the day of the dead? For we too will one day lodge with the very one we are visiting on this day of remembering. For young or old the spectre of death is ever present. For young or old, life is frail. Like a dome of many-colored glass (to paraphrase Chesterton) it stains the white radiance of eternity, till death tramples it to pieces.

And when this happens, where would be but among the very ones we are visiting? When I am dead, sing no sad song for me, says a poet. But that's poetry. For most of us we need a sad song from our loved ones if only to feel their sweet remembering of ourselves.