We are all part of our ancestors, who they were is carried in us in every cell of our bodies – our genetic heritage. Many cultures pay respect to this, in Mexico it is called The Day of the Dead. It is a moving and beautiful traditional ceremony that survived the Hispanic conquest. Veronica, a woman I hurt, kindly invited me to attend. I believe the invitation went something like this, “Ian, since you are nearly dead, why not come to Mexico to experience The Day of the Dead”. It was emotionally uplifting to be part of this respect for those who have been so much part of our lives and are no longer with us. In Veronica’s House, to see my Mother and Father with Andy, Mick, Barney, and Martin sharing the space with others touched my soul. To see skeletons and treating death with familiarity, without fear and dread, not hidden, was so refreshing, as it is part of all our lives. Veronica, lives in Mexico City and she also took me into the hills of Oaxaca, to experience the passion of the indigenous people. I noticed that, not one grave, in a large cemetery, was forgotten. This is community as it can be, and is. I am sharing some of my photographs.
