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Travel> Dancing Aisle
Dancing Down The Aisle
By Cherie Magnus
Published July 2004
I would believe only
in a God that knows how to dance. ~Friedrich Nietzsche
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I dance down the aisle
of Saint Paul’s Anglican Church in San Miguel
twice a month, carrying my cross. Like most
people, I’ve always had a cross to bear,
except for that brief perfect time of my
marriage. And now I have a literal one.
I’m a Crucifer.
The cross I carry
is very beautiful, made of stained glass
and Tiffany jewels. And I do dance with
it, the processional step-pause of a wedding,
and always in time to the hymn being sung.
I wear a white alb, usually my San Miguel
cocktail huaraches and a small ruby and
silver cross made by a local jeweler.
It is such a blessing
for me to serve in this way. I feel proud
and humble and thankful. The Mexican people
are accustomed to physically participating
in their religion on a daily basis, unlike
the Protestant gringo and Northern European.
I’ve felt so envious of all the processions
and the full-blown, emotional festivals
I’ve witnessed here, longing to be a part
of them. In my own quiet gringa way I’ve
built altars in my apartment, and lately
in the business offices of my busy Mexican
friends. I’m always in the streets for the
processions on feast days, I walked all
night the 17 kilometers from Atotonilco
at Easter time, and I’ve gone alone late
at midnight to the Panteon on Day of the
Dead, wishing I could join a family celebration
on the grave of a loved one. |
What an exquisite and moving
tradition to have a special day to honor one’s
dead with remembrances and fiestas. It is so healthy
for the living to remember their loved ones and
to contemplate their own mortality in a personal
way. My husband’s grave in France is a plot leased
for only twenty more years, my mother is buried
in an old graveyard in downtown Los Angeles, my
father’s burial place is in the Valley with my
grandfather’s, and my grandmother’s ashes were
scattered at sea before she allowed me or my children
to be notified of her death. No one visits, and
certainly no one parties on their graves, bringing
their favorite foods and drink and flowers to
lure their spirits back for that night, unless
it’s a Mexican family’s overflow. But now I’ve
learned how to lure their spirits back to me once
a year.
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Here in Mexico religion is everywhere,
and I am thankful I have one too. Maybe
I’m not a Catholic, but it doesn’t matter.
I understand the sufferings of Jesus, and
his mother, Our Lady of Sorrows. I pray
to the same God, and the complicated legends
and stories that Mexicans grow up with now
enrich my faith too. I’m moved to touch
the old beloved images the people kiss and
adore even though it is not in my culture
as a Lutheran, but I am blessed just the
same. All the thousands of saints and the
Hosts of Heaven and the Orishas of Cuba
look after me too, and I’m thankful I at
last found out about them.
Last Easter season I made the midnight
pilgrimage from Atononilco, a beautiful
old church (called the Sistine Chapel of
Mexico) in a village 17 km from San Miguel.,
an annual tradition for over 250 years--carrying
a sacred image to San Miguel for the Easter
season. About 6,000 people walk along in
silence behind El Senor de la Columna in
the light of torches, with rockets going
off at the head of the procession to announce
our arrival. Then at six on Sunday morning,
when we entered San Miguel on Independencia,
thousands more people lined the decorated
streets in welcome, offering the pilgrims
hot food and drink. We stopped there to
unveil the images, and then continued on
to the church of San Juan de Dios, walking
through the mint and manzanilla and elaborate
designs in colored sawdust covering the
cobblestones, our footsteps scattering in
an instant the beautiful patterns incorporating
Catholic and indigenous designs that took
all the previous day and night to make. |
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My
personal cross has been heavy at times, with
all the illness, death and loss of the past
decade. But I’ve always had help in carrying
it, and now to lead the procession to worship
in a beautiful little church in Mexico is
my blessing and reward. |
About
this author: With degrees in English, Dance,
and Library Science from UCLA, Cherie has published
many articles in professional journals and magazines.
Her solo travels to Europe and Latin America have
inspired several pieces published in Skirt!, PassionFruit,
Moxie, JourneyWoman, Dancing USA, GoNomad, Open
Spaces, Porthole, The Cusco Weekly, the-vu, and
various online magazines. She was the dance critic
for the Cerritos News in Orange County, California
before moving to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.
She is currently at work on a novel situated in
France, when she's not out dancing.
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