One gray dawn as spring was turning into bright summer green somewhere in the middle of America, I pulled into a rest area after driving all night, climbed into the back seat and dove into a dreamless black sleep. I awoke when the car got too warm and staggered out into a Leonora Carrington funeral dream. A crowd of people were dressed in festive costumes and gathered around a red pickup truck wrapped in black crepe paper. I knew the truck was red because it poked through like the color of my bloodshot eyes where some of the crinkled paper had unraveled. Stupefied and intrigued, I wandered toward the hallucination. It seems I had stumbled onto a wandering collective of buskers, magicians, performance artists, bracelet and ring makers, tarot card readers, raconteurs who passed the hat at the end of their tales and seamstresses of magical costumes who would sell their wares on the street and throw in a face painting for free. There were probably others who also made their living with their talent, but these were the ones I remembered. One of their members had died along the road and they had pooled their money to have him cremated in some podunk town and entombed in a silver chalice that was displayed on a crate in the bed of the pickup truck, surrounded by flowers and decorative cakes, fruit and halved cantaloupes all resting on beds of evergreen boughs. They were unhesitant in their welcoming of me and before I could stop them scarves were tied around my biceps, an Irish cap was placed on my head, and handmade bracelets were fitted to my wrists. Then I was lightly kissed on the cheek in welcome. I was so unused to death I really didn’t know how to act and mumbled some remembered condolences, but they were not sad at all, quite the contrary. I was given a glass of Framboise and encouraged to toast, even though it was morning and I hadn’t even eaten anything yet. Everyone took turns either singing or reciting poetry or just telling funny stories about the departed and then they all looked at me, expecting me to contribute. I swiveled my head like someone watching fast action ping-pong hoping that someone would grant me a reprieve, but it didn’t come. I racked my brain and came up with an idea. I dug into my pocket and pulled out all my coins and held them loosely in my fist and shook out a slow beat and sung, “Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high . . . there’s a land that I’ve heard of, once in a lullaby.” Now I can sing and I really put my soul into it, and soon people started crying and laughing at the same time and joined in and when I finished they made me sing it again and by this time I was also laughing and crying and it was one of the most moving things I’ve ever done. All in all, it was the best funeral I ever attended. The sun rises and sets. Summer turns to fall then to winter. We are born we grope with life, we die. Every culture has rituals. We remember. We honor. We give thanks on falling stars that it’s not our time yet. In China, they are always honoring their ancestors Recently they had a national holiday called ‘Tomb Sweeping Day.’ It is a three-day holiday to honor the dead. When most of China lived in villages they would go out to the graveyards and actually sweep off the tombs, plant flowers and actively grieve the dead. But now, most of China lives in cities and a three-day holiday is not enough time to go back to their ancestral villages, so they honor them in their own way by lighting fires on the sidewalk, burning fake money and miniature clothes, setting out food and drink and incense, burning the sacred yellow paper, to ensure their ancestors have money, clothes, food and good fortune in the afterlife. And they actively remember. A friend of mine, Matti McFly, was actually honored by an invitation to ‘Tomb Sweeping Day’ in Thailand where they actually remove the bones from the tomb and clean them every year. It's a very respected occasion carried out with great reverence. Below is a photo of Matti cleaning an ancient skull. On ‘Tomb Sweeping Day’ I will use the time to remember all the things I've left behind that have provided such useful contrast in my life. I wish the same to you. The photos in this post (with the exception of Matti’s) are all from my favorite surrealist painter, Leonora Carrington, and you can click here for a small sample of Leonora Carrington’s vibrant work. Can you deny you have your own tomb’s to sweep? I bow to your effort to do so. Implicit in the celebration of death is the celebration of life. This is probably why they have this holiday in the spring, when we are all open to everything . . .
3 Comments
moonmadman
4/14/2014 11:00:03 am
I am pleased and impressed that you are friends with Marty McFly's brother. It is an honor, once again, to know you....
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Mary
4/16/2014 03:58:18 am
The art work is incredible along with the best funeral ever story. Tomb sweeping is a great idea and I wish April 15th the IRS would sweep away paying more taxes as I had to do yesterday. I wish they would clean sweep it out of existence. Happy Spring to you as it is blooming here except for last night we had sleet and I woke up to ice all over the ground and my car in April!! Sun is shining today!!
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Erika MarĂa
5/10/2014 05:08:11 am
Death passionately expressed in this paintings. The integration of all the elements of Death rituals in your posts show the intensity of your search, profound work. Thanks for the inspiration.
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