Hello, It's Halloween

 

10.30.2020 HELLO, IT’S HALLOWEEN Halloween may look a little different this weekend with social-distancing rules and bans on trick-or-treating in some areas, but many are finding small ways to celebrate. Where I live, neighbors have outfitted their front lawns with skeletons, ghosts, pumpkins, and spiderwebs. Most seem to have gotten more serious about their Halloween decor this year, making the streets a fun and spooky sight.    The Halloween we know began as Samhain, a pagan festival that signaled the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter. It celebrated the introduction of darker days ahead and marked the time of year where it was thought the veil between the physical and unseen world was the thinnest. In Mexico, Día de los Muertos, or the Day of the Dead, celebrates those who have passed on. Families encourage visits from the spirit world by setting up altars for their departed loved ones, decorating them with photos, offerings of favorite foods, and flowers.   In Buddhism, there too are Halloween corollaries to be found in unseen beings, multiple realms of existence, and even hungry ghosts. There also exists a deep respect and understanding of death as one of the greatest teachers of all.    As the three stories below will tell you, Halloween brings with it the opportunity to reflect on and celebrate the darker side of life. Beyond costumes and candy corn, it reminds us of the delicate balance of life and death, light and dark, and as Ira Sukrungruang puts it below, “the necessity of both.”   Happy Halloween!   —Lilly Greenblatt, digital editor, LionsRoar.com

Sugar Skulls Día de los Muertos is a reminder, says Linda González, that we are all one in life and death. As I entered deeper into my Buddhist path, Día de los Muertos aligned easily with the four noble truths. Remembering mi gente each year lessens my suffering while reminding me there is a path to healing unfinished business, even after death. This well-worn yearly path begins with a musty container of pictures and mementos. I set up an altar below the shelf that holds my Buddhist altar and smile while taping up an image of a skeleton sitting zazen. Sometimes I move pictures of those who have passed that year from the upper altar to the lower one. This year Ethel, my twins’ sweet dog, will journey down. So will my brother. But my parents will stay on my Buddhist altar, tiny beside the bronze statue of Amida Buddha. I love the serendipity of them next to the buddha that I turn to for comfort.

Hello, It’s Halloween What do you want to be for Halloween? Who do you want to be in life? Ira Sukrungruang on the costumes we wear. I find the cartoon my son watches catchy and creepy. Hello, it’s Halloween echoes in my head. I say it without knowing I’m saying it. I hum the tune without knowing I’m humming the tune. If I dwell on it — I try not to because it makes me think I’m a bad parent — the cartoon depicts a boy and girl entering a haunted house and encountering evil beings out to do them harm. Sometimes I wonder where are the parents of these two children and why are they allowing them to walk in desolate places. Sometimes I want to say to that boy and girl, Turn around. Do not go in there. Bad things happen in places like this: zombies will stagger out of graves; witches will boil something green in cauldrons; vampires will bare their pointy fangs. Boy and girl, there is danger in this venture, the possibility of death. Perhaps I overthink this. Since becoming a father, I overthink a lot of things. Perhaps I should not shield my son from the notion of death, because death is inevitable. Perhaps there is something beautiful in the celebration of the darker side of life.

Under the Skeleton Tree Bonnie Nadzam relives the childhood ritual of playing dead. The year I was in the third grade might have been the last year we played dead beneath the Skeleton Tree. It was just before dinner — nearing dark. The tree stretched its bare, iron-limbed branches above us. There were rippled gray skies and golden leaves spinning on their stems. When it was over, we sat up to check in with each other: Did you die? “I really did this time,” I said. “The person you’re talking to isn’t even the person who was here before.” My older sister was skeptical. “Who are you then?” “I don’t know,” I said. I was wonderstruck. “I don’t know! But I know I’ve never been here before.”

SUBSCRIBE TODAY