Ms. Peacock in the Conservatory: Dušičky

Note: As a prelude to todays writing, I must warn that the ruminations below are a bit more somber than usual. This is not because the writer is melancholy, but rather this day calls for commemoration and a greater restraint of humor in attempt to pay homage to the dead.

In my latter years, I cannot claim to be a proponent of organized religion. This is not to say I am not curious, nor does it mean that I do not entertain conversation surrounding the topic of faith and spirituality. Nevertheless, for me, religions primary function for the past several years has been to answer that lurid question of “what happens when you’re dead?” After several feeble and deplorable attempts to answer this question, I hung up the religion hat in a quest for something else.

When I was younger, it was easier. Some how my Grandma June can always seem to recollect that moment when I was about seven and brazenly said to her, “You know, you are going to die some day...”

However, today is not about this… entirely.

I have never particularly warmed to the idea of death and before today, walking in a graveyard at dusk was never something I felt inclined to do. However, remember, I am in Czech and my inhibitions have been left some 7,000 miles on the stoop of a distant castle.

On November 2^nd the Czech ‘celebrate Dušičky, which is something akin to “All Souls Day”. This holiday is practiced all over the world under many different names and forms, but the central theme of all the holiday is the same, a celebration and remembrance of the dead. You have probably seen pictures of Mexico’s Day of the Dead, which is the same Holiday. When I first heard about the Holiday I mildly associated it with a Czech version of “Halloween”, which is supposedly ‘not’ celebrated here. Given the Halloween extravaganza held at the gymnasium-school- I would beg to differ (evidence below). Some people still claim that Dušičky is the “Czech Halloween” (i.e. Prague blog ). Having now witnessed and participated in this holiday, I am a little ashamed to have originally thought this was simply another pagan holiday.

After my students blatantly guffawed at my Czech pronunciation of Dušičky (I am improving!) I asked them what this holiday meant for them. Perhaps it was difficult to explain with the language barriers, or the fact that at that age students do not want to talk to anyone, but what I got out of them was that there were many candles involved. Not knowing exactly what to expect and armed with only camera, candle, and salt to ward off the spirits, I embarked to the Litomyšl cemetery for my Dušičky adventure.

I am attempting to make light of this moment, but the sight of the cemetery was overwhelming and stirred emotions. Unbeknownst, I found myself part of the mass exodus of Litomyšlans to the graves of their dead ancestors. For once, I felt I was part of the pilgrimage and part of this town. I did not need language to be able to remember.

When I took my first steps into the cemetery I was amazed at the amount of light and life that was inside. Not only were their many people, but also most graves had their own flower gardens atop the tombs with a host of candles.

I walked and watched the people light candles, brush the fallen leaves off the tombs, adorn the tombs with wreaths and flowers, and some stand huddled together. I watched the children giggle, the mother’s hold their children close, and dusk slowly roll into black.

I wondered whom the people were lighting candles for... The old woman. Candles for her Husband? Her Grandparents? Her Friends? Her Children? I scanned the dates on the headstones, admiring the ages and the history these people had lived through. 1901-1987; 1902-1964; 1898-1916. a State creation, WWI, WWII, a Communist occupation, and separation from Slovakia, but here, in this cemetery, their lives are marked with brevity and numbers.

A while back, Aleš, the family, and I went on an epic bike adventure around the outskirts of town. One of our stops was at an abandoned Jewish cemetery (strange to use the word abandoned). Jewish cemeteries were not allowed to be in the town limits. At this cemetery the stones we cracked and overlapping. The Communists had destroyed the headstones and cemetery during their twenty-year occupation. Tonight I wonder if that cemetery is as lit up and alive, as it should be.

It seemed almost fortuitous that I stumbled upon a black bird resting atop a gravestone. The event and moment something directly out of an Edgar Allen Poe poem, but lacking the metaphor.

The meaning of my last name derives from the polish word magpie, or blackbird.

It was not a full moon and the black birds tail didn’t have the swatches of a magpie, but I felt moved to remember at least one of my ancestors. & So this evening I lit a candle for my grandfather, Frank, who I have never met, but who I will always honor in the memorial I made for him, behind a large tree, at one of the corners of the Litomyšl Cemetery.

Felt strange to take pictures.

From the unadorned, but remembered here...