Musing Interruptus

January 4th came around and I was already tired, beat, and a little out of my mind with grief. I never thought much of end-of-the-year activities holding such an outcome. Nevertheless, there I was, holding my dog for his final breaths, tears streaming down our faces.

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. Life and death are two of the most natural events I can think of. Sex is another, but we’ll save that for another installment. Life and death… things we are certain of, unless confronted by Morpheus in the Matrix with some groovy pills.

Day 12, year 2022. I remember the precise moment when he said, It can’t get any worse than this. I immediately glared at him and said -oh please don’t do that. You should know better by now. I am well aware that those words are not magic, nor did they instigate the forthcoming events. The Christmas season began with two thoughts. 1. I am going to stop being a grinch. It was actually an advance on a Christmas present. 2. A seasonal movie would have this be the watershed moment that puts the protagonist’s sense of goodness and hope to the test. A Christmas Spirit test. A story is as old as time.

I vowed to put the Christmas tree up and not mention the atrocity of having a green tree rotting for the pleasure of the household, thus my personal pet name for the tree over the years, Christmas Corpse, was not heard, not even once. No gentle listeners, not even once. I ventured into a handicraft store, bought a few kilos of glitter, glue, paint, tulle, and ribbons…  and made decorations and a reef. I Played Christmas songs, fake it till you make it. And by George, I had the Christmas Spirit, it invaded me all over, I was intoxicated… Christmas hives all over the place. I was the voice of Christmas hope and tenderness… I was feeling good about it. I even philosophized over the importance of controlling one’s feelings and perceptions and taking responsibility for one’s feelings. If you listened to my last podcast of the year, I freakin’ recited the Night Before Christmas. I Christmased it up alright.

Bad news at work, and some shocking news from another two fronts… which by the way, in the end, had good outcomes. In the face of this,  I didn’t consider giving up the Christmas Spirit, no. I only decided to be close to family, and that was the right move. In the end, the people we call family, be they your flesh and blood or the family we chose to have, are with whom we need to be, in happy times, but especially in the hardest times. I recognize the universe did not throw things at me, nor was I the subject of a cruel experiment. No. I am just a human, getting by and yes, loving every moment of it. Even in the hardest and darkest times, love shines through. I don’t think it hurts any less, though.

Continue reading: https://bit.ly/3fjgjoU 

Greeting my dearest Musing iInterruptus listeners and participators, most beloved students, and people who feel compelled to listen because they live with me. As the end of the year approaches, and tonight is Christmas Eve, I wanted to let you know that I wrote a Christmas letter to Santa Claus, along the lines of asking for good-will, peace, abolition of developing and less developed countries’ external debt, the fall of the patriarchy and eradication of structural violence, once that has been taken care of, I’d like a floating diamond to adorn my neck and why not, throw in condoning all our debt, and… inflation, we should take care of that one too. Also, I don’t know if you are familiar with Strega Nonna’s pot of pasta… but, please situate those in strategic places. Thank you Santa, and please know that my students were very well behaved and should get their lists too…

So, you, my dear listeners and beloved students, are included in my wishes and also gratitude. Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening, Happy Solstice,  Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year.

Today, I will read a poem I learned when I was in Kindergarten. Of course, my cheese brain only remembers the first few lines, so I had to read it. Still, I read it with love. I hope you enjoy. I’ll be back next year, and as ever, I’m listening.

Twas the Night before Christmas Poem

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her „kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled down for a long winter‟s nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window, I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer And Vixen! On, Comet! On Cupid! On, Donner And Blitzen!

... Continue reading: https://bit.ly/33Wo4P3 

Hello and welcome to Musing Interruptus. Thank you for clicking, thanks for listening… please share! Last weekend was a special day for people whose faith is deposited in our Lady of Guadalupe. I’m generally not one for religion, but to understand Mexico, you have to understand the role of the Catholic Church and  La Virgen de Guadalupe, in Mexican’s identities. I use the plural, it’s not just one. I’m not going to discuss syncretism between the indigenous, African, and Spanish populations today, nor bloodshed and conquests. I’m going to open a door to a moment into my identity as a Mexican.

I woke up on Sunday, thrilled by what was in store. A morning of biking around a town called Tequisquiapan, in the state of Querétaro. I thought that the air would warm up by the time we arrived. It wasn’t the case, I could feel the cold wind, burn my skin, just a little. By the time the bells toll reverberated off the buildings, it was warm.

We heard the bells toll (ring), incessantly… I needed to see where it was coming from. I pushed my bike into the square and pulled out my phone… I wanted to record the sound of those bells. They were hypnotic. I pushed my bike to the fountain. I could see the bell tower and the young men swinging off the bells. There were so many people, flocking to the church. They sat outside… chanting. I still hadn’t realized what day it was. I never really thought about this day, much less desired to be in a place of worship on this day. I have a lot of family and friends that do. And that is just fine by me. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shells… they ayoyotes rattled, then I smelled the copal incense…  A group of indigenous people entered the square, carrying a painting of Our Lady of Guadalupe. I swear I felt the earth shift… I know it was something inside of me shifting. They walked towards the church and entered. I stayed outside. I watched.

I thought I was just a bystander, an unintentional tourist. I wasn’t meant to be there, I was meant to be cycling, finding my way up a hill, shifting the gears, pushing myself… but no. I was there. Encapsulated by this moment. It was someone else’s, not mine. I was not meant to be there. I was only supposed to bike through. Not even a tourist, a temporary traveler. Not even for the day, just the morning... Those bells kept ringing, inundating the heavens, flooding my consciousness.

I can feel you, grandma.

That happened. I can feel you. Look, grandma, I am here.  I used to accompany you, because it was important to you. I know this was so important to you. I know she was important to you. She was the ultimate mother, our lady of Guadalupe, and you venerated her. Now here you have me. I never meant to be here. I am.

I sobbed, I sobbed for my grandmother, I sobbed because I was overwhelmed with the energy that went through me as if I were nothing and everything. I was reminded that I was mistaken if I thought I was not part of it. My atoms and sub-particles danced and participated. I could not put up any resistance. It was useless. I just let it happen. Let is a strong word. It happened to me.

I turned and saw families carrying images of La Virgen de Guadalupe, heading the call of the bells, maybe their faith. Groups of musicians with big brass instruments, in full uniform, crisp and clean. Today was a very important day. Mexico’s special mother.

I went from unintentional tourist to being pulled into the ground, rooted by my Mexican’s past, stunned, covered in tears, having shed something I never… I don’t know what.

As I saw the group of what I imagined were the heirs of the Chichimecas, leaving the Parish of Santa María de Asunción… It was time for me to leave too.

I was lighter, freer, and more connected to my Mexican Identity. ...

Greetings and welcome to Musing Interruptus.  Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening. Today, it's all about fidelity after 30. Join me.

High Fidelity is a movie I’ve watched a few times over the years. John Cusack’s character is infuriating and adorable. His top five lists are endearing and his love of music relatable. But it’s the title I want to focus on. Words and phrases change meaning, become fuller and heavier, as time goes by. Words like: love, friendship, freedom, happiness, sadness, orgasm, speed limit, breaks, life insurance, glucose, will. It seems they accumulate gravity, or the force with which they are said and fall are all the more real and heavy.

For example, believing in change or an alternate way of doing things. When I heard my favorite hippies had sold out, I was a bit devastated. I think that Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream represented so much more than a desert. It was the possibility of a business that seemed fair, sustainable, a dream of doing things differently, that connected generations. They sold out because everyone has their price. Then again, don’t they deserve their payday? Don’t we all have a price? This happened in the year 2000, I am just now learning this. Talk about being dazed and confused. They still retain their own board of directors who decide on social matters. Whatever that means.

Fidelity. It has to do with loyalty. Normally associated with loyalty to a partner, this word has gravitas. Especially when the context is self.  Fidelity to one’s values, ideals, desires… Listening to high-fidelity music requires the right equipment to reproduce it. Being true, faithful to one’s self requires an immaterial thing, an internal apparatus of inner strength, motivation, and the willingness to accept the opportunity cost of being faithful to one’s self. Depending on the social context, this could include social ostracism. Reliance on one’s self is not readily learned by the masses, nor taught in schools. We are taught to adapt, adjust, and tolerate the heat. Is that the only way to do it? No, that is their way. Only through questioning can one achieve an understanding of whatever is before you. The scientific method starts with questions, the Socratic method revolves around questions… asking the right questions is crucial. How many questions were you asked at school? Not as many as you were asking. It is in a child’s nature to ask questions. They are natural instigators of resistance and rebellion in a system that would have them be socialized to take part in the systematic depletion of the planet and ultimately, humanity, an ill excuse for survival of the fittest. Slap that on a t-shirt and get back to work.

I was watching the first installment of Get Back, a miniseries on the Beatles. I was appalled at the situation in the band, the external pressure exerted on the band to produce greatness in no time at all. The show must go on because economic interests dictate it. I’m not advocating for a completely laissez-faire approach, nor would I have them working at a Starbucks, however, they were financially in a place that would allow them to create at leisure. What type of work would we have been exposed to had they not been pressured? Would Paul have been so dismissive of George? It’s economic interests you stupid hippie, it wasn’t Yoko. You are told that everyone is replaceable. That is just not true. There is no other George, they tried replacing Paul, and that has been a fiasco, and they didn’t even try with John. There is no replacing the Beatles. Just as there is no other weirdo writing for Musing Interruptus. When I am gone, Musing Interruptus will be gone.

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. Spoiler alert, I’m not in a good mood and I just read that Merriam-Webster’s word of the year is vaccine. If you aren’t in the best mood, join me. I dare you. The rest of you can enjoy your day, I’ll be here next week, maybe bubbly and enthusiastic, maybe pedantic and pontificating, maybe a little less miffed. Meanwhile, and I do say this candidly, if you like what you hear, please like, follow and share. I do appreciate it, almost as much as receiving your comments, answers and questions. I love that. Thank you so much to those listening in Mexico, Chile, Brazil, Turkey, Vietnam, the United States, and Canada. A friend told me this is one of her top four favorite podcasts. What a ray of sunshine. We here at Musing Interruptus are just over the moon about that. Thank you for listening. Well, on with it, before I get in a good mood again. An unimaginative word of the year...

Vaccine is the word of the year. Let me be very clear, all my appreciation to all the scientists and and all the healthcare workers who have made up the force, our front lines of the resistance against Covid-19. Our heroes, whom I suspect will never truly receive the level of recognition they deserve. Vaccine. We are part of the massive group who will go down in history as guinea pigs, scared shitless of getting sick and getting vaccinated, nonetheless capable of carrying out high risk activities, such as Covid parties under the slogan, we only live once. Which is true, it’s the duration of life which comes into question when we partake in risky business. In fact, this behavior is a de facto reduction of our appreciation of healthcare workers who tirelessly have put their lives on the line. Vaccine is the word of the year. Sure, many of us have been vaccinated. There are regions in the world where covid-19 vaccines are just not attractive enough. Some people can’t be bothered to get vaccinated. Which is an incredibly selfish act, as the virus has a greater chance of muting in the unvaccinated, putting us all at risk, but specially, those, would love to get a dose, but don’t have access to them. This is a global issue being tackled on a case by case basis. Sounds like a winning strategy. Of course, what can we expect when strategies to tackle international issues such as the pollution of our environment and organized crime take a back seat to economic and political interests. It’s the production system, you stupid hippie. Money makes the world go round, if you don’t got it, then you are stuck with second and third rate access (or no access at all) to vaccines.

Vaccine is the word of the year. Availability according to region and resources. The kicker, the ripple effects of not having access will continue to generate waves, straining healthcare systems, economies, and most importantly, quality of life and even life itself. 

Forgive me if I am not happy enough about vaccine being the word of the year… It represents hope for some, and for others, it is a reminder of the vast economic development gap, whose effects will ricochet over and over on the very regions that once had imperialistic aspirations, whose  past generations colonized, extracted and pillaged. They, who question and limit migration from the very countries they have benefitted from, those countries to the south. What’s behind the lag? How long before true cooperation will render the results we need for humanity, and not only a few nations?  I am reminded of John Donne’s poem: no man is an island. Pandemics tend to remind us of this. Continue reading: https://bit.ly/3dff74R 

Good evening or good morning. Maybe it's afternoon… welcome to Musing Interruptus. A podcast meant to start a conversation, with anyone listening, if you are one of my English language students or a future student, you can practice your listening skills and maybe be inspired to learn some new vocabulary- So take a listen and read along to random thoughts on life, love, infatuation, driving, idiomatic phrases in use, cultural differences, death, vampires, magic, you know,  the stuff of rants, and continue the conversation. If you would like to participate, well, I’d be over the moon. Just let me know and we will make that happen. Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening. I always appreciate receiving your answers!! I’m listening… you can leave voice messages on the Musing Interruptus Anchor Page, vía Whatsapp, the Lucid Communication Academy Facebook Page, or my Instagram. If you enjoyed this, please give it a like and follow wherever you are listening to this podcast. Do you think someone would like to listen to this, please share.

Now to the nitty-gritty of it… Dream dating, yay or nay? Is it a thing, the workings of a creative mind, or an indicator of psychosis? [keep reading: https://bit.ly/3daIs0l]

The demons that plagued our childhood are the best models for villains. The stuff they are made of is ripe, nay! Rotten with scary stuff. They are relentless and unforgiving, and only in the most hopeful of minds, redeemable. The Sleep Foundation found that 20% of children between the ages of 6 and 12 suffer from nightmares. Do you remember the villains that went bump in the night? Do you have nightmares? If so, welcome to Musing Interruptus. Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening.  Halloween may be over, but the spirits that haunt us are not the only beings roaming our earthly realm. You know what I’m talking about. I know I wasn’t the only ten-year-old suffering from catastrophic fantasies that involved vampires, legions of zombies, and the awakening of dormant volcanoes.

There was nothing more terrifying than what was in the closet or under the bed when darkness sank over our heads. That which cannot be seen and only heard is a heart attack waiting to happen. God bless young hearts. I was certain that I needed to be in the know when it came to personal defense and vampires. Unfortunately, I didn’t know there were some rules that innately protected me. I learned more when I watched Let the Right One In. Many nights of headache would have been avoided had I known that you have to invite vampires in… they can’t just let themselves in or fly through the window. My reasoning led me to consider the use of a broomstick for impaling and the protection of a mirror, as I was certain that any vampire, while trying to trick me, would avoid any mirror, as it would reveal, rather, fail to reveal their reflection. This now makes very little sense to me. Go figure, perhaps I was not that bright. Mind you, my plans for protection were always concocted with what little energy I had left, as Morpheus pulled me into never-never land... That is another mind fuck, in itself... I mean come on… pirates, grown men, angling against flying children. Talk about scary situations. Back to those vampires. They never came. I mean, vampires were interviewed, twilight came and went, I sleep with the goddamn window open, no mirrors anywhere in the room, impaling apparatus out of sight, and this seductive older gentleman bloodsucking fiend is nowhere to be found. It's a classic catch 22. I over-protected from vampires as a child, it seems too well.

Why, you ask, would a grown woman ever consider such a thing? Why do I do most of the things I do, would be my answer… first of all, it entertains me… but secondly, there is sound logic behind it. Consider this: dreams are a way of processing emotion. Our minds are hard at work making sense of our experiences and our perception of those experiences. Dreaming is part of that process. So nightmares are based on reality… therefore vampires are real. I am at a loss, forsaken by my demon…  I am just now realizing that once again, I have forgotten another important vampire rule… garlic. I love garlic. It's good for the heart, the gut and it tastes amazing. However, no vampire in their right mind would risk it, no matter how enticing my jugular vein is.

Short of a psychotic break, and following my evidently sound argumentation process, I wonder about our imaginary friends from childhood, would they make an appearance? If they did, would they have free will? Would there be a battle of villains against bears that care with their tummies? Would the villains of the past maintain their status? Nightmares are outgrown, heroes too. That is the natural progression, for those that mature… Are you mature? I’m listening.

Welcome to Musing interruptus. Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening. There are places to be, and people to see! But first, you have to get there. Today on Musing Interruptus, Traffic, it is bound to happen or Traffic Bound, it’d better be the journey that matters most.

It’s on the way there, picking you up is not a problem. Click, or beep. Whatever hanging up the godforsaken phone sounds like these days. Catching up on calls, thoughts, projects… so much you can do in traffic. I love it. Listen to music, listen to me… 50 ways to make better use of your time in traffic. Paul Simon offers 50 ways to leave your lover. 50 thoughts in 50 seconds… Sounds like a challenge. A duel! To the death! AT DAWN, NO LESS!!!! For your honor Beatrice! For. your. honor! No. Interrupt, Interrupt! The topic is traffic. The mind wonders if you are bold enough to let it. What better place than among 50 strangers, in boxes, on wheels, there may even be a fox. So these strangers in boxes, a vision of what is to come, in a more compact model. Meandering thoughts. The box with wheels comes in all sorts of colors and sizes, for the young at heart and serious in the brow, there is something for us all. Don’t you want a box with wheels? Wouldn’t you love to feel the absolute solitude of encapsulated strangerhood? On roads? It’s the best time to think, practice your English (ejem… ) or another language, listen to my podcast, listen for the hidden messages…listen to songs that remind of your freer times, outside of the capsule. But right now you are here, I guess I’m here too. Next to you, watching you drive. No! Don’t change the dial! Don’t think about that part too much. This is just another voice, part of the environment. You are alone in the box with wheels. What color is it? What make and model is your box? Do you see other’s on the road, in front of you, behind you, to your sides? Are you looking in the rearview mirror? Hey… is your seatbelt on? When was the last time you got your brakes checked? How about that oil change? Have you considered converting to the faith of UBER? Have you heard the call?  So many things to consider. How are those car payments? Fun times. All so you can sit here, with me, and pretend there is no one else around. But, you are not the only person stuck in traffic. Sucks… Can’t read while you are here, can’t paint either. Can’t really work. Would be nice to make a friend as we are semi-parked here, waiting for this agglomeration of metal boxes to move forward.

Now let’s get down to this. The nitty-gritty. There is someone who obviously does not want to get home, or wherever they are going. It might even be you! You, holding up traffic, going a little slower than you should, you prick. People have places to go and people to see… Do you think we want to be in this traffic! DO YOU THINK THIS IS WHAT I WAS BORN TO DO?! What kind of cruel joke is this? 840 hours a year wasted on rush-hour! WASTED! I could have been learning something. Falling in love. Creating a masterpiece. At least one of you might have found the cure to a horrid ailment.

Hey, don’t forget to use your turn signal. Don’t get me started on the strangers in boxes that don’t use their turn signals. I hate that. I also hate when drivers fail to use the roundabout or traffic circle correctly. How about Sunday drivers abusing the high-speed lane on the highway. It is for the fast and the furious baby… off, off I tell you! I blame you.. Sunday drivers who would see us all suffer the loss of precious time just to get where we are going, to whoever is waiting on the other side. They say… by the way, who is they?? Can we meet?? I’d love to hear what else they say. Anyway… They say it’s the journey that matters…  that is life. The road most traveled and the other half less traveled. It’s all the same, you are on a journey. Those hours in gridlock are part of the experience...

In October 2021, Spotify reported 365 million users. If you are listening to me right now, you are most likely one of them. Listening to music releases dopamine. Dopamine makes you feel good, real good. Euphoric, even. Musicophiles, melophiles, ... Welcome to Musing Interruptus. Today, a peek into a moment between friends, who love music a little too much. You can find a playlist on Spotify by the same name as this episode: Between a Musicophile and a Hard Spot, listen to the songs referenced in this episode, and by all means, tell me what you think.

The conversation is set in a park. It is autumn and the light has changed along with the crispness of the air. We see a rock wall sprawl across the park, which actually seems more like a clearing in the woods. They sit, side by side, with a cup of coffee and heavy sweaters. They were hell-bent on developing their game: Not a Musical - conversations through lyrics-

Friends since college, best friends. In good times and bad times, birthdays, conversations spanning over years, boring Wednesdays and hangover Sundays, 3 am calls, always on call.

Their backs are visible to us. Cotton sweaters in earth tones and the steam from their coffee cups escaping back into the sky. I need to tell you something, says the sweater on the left. I have a feeling that things are going to change, and soon.  - Ahh, you mean the winds of change, says sweater on the right. Well, not the end of the cold war, change… but change. Like, cha cha cha changes. Ahh, Ra ra ra right. Answered sweater on the right. So, what’s going on? Sweater on the left clears throat… mmm mm, It comes easy to me, to communicate through songs, because there are words that sometimes cannot come out in the right order. The added bonuses are the beats and sounds that come along with it, giving the message an assured release of dopamine. Go on, said Sweater on the Right.

Sweater on the left shoots a glare peeping under the eyebrows. Ok, I basically asked you know who to Sway my Way… Wait… exclaimed Sweater on the Right, Michael Bublé or Bic Runga? Bic Runga… said Sweater on the Left. I finally did it. It was perfectly horrible and wonderful at once, in a single breath it's like the Earth shifted on its axis. I’m walking on the Moon, Police Style. Standing there, face to face. Snow Patrol’s Life on Earth coursing through my veins and out my voice.

- huuuuu , exhaled Sweater on the Right. Finally. You know, whatever happens after this, you will forever have that moment, when the inside words became outside words. Bravely.

Sweater on the left continued… I can’t tell you how many times I imagined that moment. Intoxicated, caged, and then set free. I became an expansive wave of energy. I can’t tell you how many times I backed down before that moment. But today… today, I walked away,  in a very New Radicals, You Get What You Give way.

We both have great loves in our lives. Music is one of them. It’s not the most important. The people who make that music relevant are the most important. The experiences we craft can be as magical as we imagine. And the moments that surprise us, those treasures. Well, I’m sure you know what to do with those.

Thank you for listening, thank you for clicking. Send me audios or write me, on Anchor, Facebook, Instagram. Tell me about your bravest moment in front of someone else. Have you curated a playlist for special moments… or your life? Are you brave with your feelings? Do any of the songs on the list have a special meaning for you? I’m listening.

Welcome to musing interruptus. Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening. Today it is a celebration of life after death. The afterlife on Earth… It’s just a party, but parties are fundamental celebrations of milestones, and today, it’s not just for the living.

Saying goodbye can be sad. Some stories will haunt you, even if they are not your own. A friend that held her husband’s hand in his final hours, the words she whispered. The woman that took care of her ailing husband after a lifetime that had led them down separate paths. The children who sat vigil of their father’s final hours. The parents who survived a child. The grandchildren who learn about the soul-searing loss on a Sunday morning from a parent. Most of the stories are love stories. That is the ingredient which gives saying goodbye a big dose of hurt. Ego and attachment are another, but I won’t get into those. Not today. Today is about the other side of goodbye after the mourning clothes have been put away.

Afterlife happens on different planes. The belongings of our departed hold energy, either because we bestow them with energy or because our loved one did. Whatever your belief, decisions on what happens to those things can be a mire. Whoever deals with it is probably the person who most needs to. Sitting with loss, processing it over and over until the rooms our loved ones once inhabited are empty. However empty you think you have left a place, there are memories of life that remain. That cannot be packed up and shipped off to the Good Will or auctioned at Sotheby's. Once the rooms have been cleaned and you walk away, the echo continues within. Some utterances unintentionally on a loop, some phrases that become their legacy. At first it can be overwhelming. As time passes, and part of their energy remains present, the living might find ways to honor that energy. There isn’t a physical place, most times of the year.

Some visit graveyards, niches in a church, special places, where mourning is welcome. In Mexican culture, we are taught that respect for our dead can manifest as a celebration of their lives through memory and physically creating a spread of what our loved ones most enjoyed. An altar to their life and memory. We prepare the path for them to come back, once a year, we sit with their memory and energy more openly. Drinking and eating their favorites, listening to the music, maybe saying a prayer, or just talking. It’s ok to cry and laugh, to sing and let oneself sit with their loved ones because they have permission to be there, on November 1st and 2nd. You see, we say goodbye to the physical body, to what hugs and kisses felt like, to their breath and smile. The rest of the person is invited to stay and roam or just stop for a visit. Sometimes even intercede. Who's to say?

In the US we have Halloween, a Celt tradition that would also welcome their dead back, in time to celebrate the harvest of the year and prepare for the roughness winter had in store. Survival included communion with the energy of their loved ones. A combination of both types of sustenance for the cold season to come. The harvest and the spirits of their departed. Presently, a different type of celebration has evolved. It's more the practice of camouflage, to trick the spirits who might want to pull the living to the afterlife, ahead of time. It's a matter of survival. As we know, not all spirits act on their best behavior, just like when they were human. Dying does not make your energy better, so you’d better do that in your lifetime. A good costume is required after 8:00 pm on October 31st, to make sure you can pass undetected among the spirits that come back to play on All Hallow’s Eve. The Catholic religious tradition starts on the evening of the 31st and culminates on November 2nd. If you ask me what I like or celebrate. I do both. They are both part of my spiritual life. They both help me feel close to my friends