Day of the Dead (part III): visiting my grandpa's grave

It is understandable if people begin to worry about me, dwelling at such length on this theme.  I can assure everyone that I'm in a very healthy mental state, and enjoying life to the fullest.  The dead, no doubt, can help us with that. There is just so much beauty and wonder to be found in these cemeteries; I'm excited to soon share some awe inspiring experiences with crows in a future post: wildlife part II! 

But for now I'm streaming a somafm station called "Doomed: dark music for tortured souls", just to get me into the mood!  I thought of saving such music for writing about my halloween post, but it wasn't spooky either, and my soul just remains inspired, rather than tortured. (Okay, they were just playing a John Carpenter track with a lot of horror film screaming, so I switched to "Lush", a mellow and sensuous station.)

So on the actual evening of Day of the Dead, I traveled to Vecses, where my grandmother is visiting from Canada and where my grandfather decided he should be buried, at great expense, although he passed away in Canada.  It doesn't make it easy for my grandmother to visit him, that's for sure.

Vecses' cemetery, just outside of Budapest

We arrived at twilight, my favourite time of day (and perhaps least favourite movie series.)  You can get a sense of the beautiful vista I beheld at that time, shown above.  Without a tripod or professional camera, these ultra-low light photos were quite challenging.

Entering the cemetery was quite the experience too.  One thing that I didn't capture in my photos is the enormous crowd that was there: hundreds of families dressed up but mostly in black, carrying candles and flowers and wreaths.  We approached in a car, me in the back, my grandmother in the front, and Marika, my cousin and my grandmother's niece, driving.  There was no parking anywhere.  We went, with much difficulty through the monstrous crowds, to the front gate where a police officer was shaking his head and waving his arms in a clear "no way!" signal.  Marika put down her window and pleaded with him, stating honestly that my grandmother can't walk much at all.  My astonishment just grew as we entered the cemetery in the little car, the crowd gradually parting around us.  It became clear to me that this was the only car inside the cemetery gates.  Crawling at a slow walking pace, our headlights lit up myriad faces, all wide eyes and frowns, as they scurried between gravestones to let us through.  Although I wouldn't know anyone there, I nevertheless felt the need to crouch down in the back seat and hide. 

Peeking out the window, the spectacle of ornamentation drew me into the mystery of this time of year once again.

We pulled over behind a big trash bin filled with flower stems, near my grandpa's resting place.  If you look carefully at the photo below, you can see Marika placing a candle on the grave, on its left side, and my grandmother is a dark figure on the far left.

my Grandfather's grave, Ujfalussy Laszlo

I had no idea what would happen here. Marika tidied up the grave, re-lit some candles, and replaced some that had wept all their wax away already.  I helped, and tried my best to capture the moment on film.  Then we stood.  And stared.  Stood and occasionally shook off a mild chill. No words.  When you don't know what to do, or what's happening, it can be quite awkward, which it was for me. After a while, stretched long by awkwardness, I timidly asked in Hungarian if I could say a prayer.  Unfortunately, I don't know any prayers in Hungarian by heart.  So I said the only Holy writing in Hungarian I have memorized, the first of Baha'u'llah's Hidden Words: 


"Ó szellem fia! Első tanácsom ez: legyen szíved tiszta, jóságos és sugárzó, hogy ősi uralmad soha el ne múljon és mindörökké tartson."


("O son of Spirit! My first counsel is this: possess a pure, kindly, and radiant heart, that thine may be a sovereignty ancient, imperishable, and everlasting.")


Immediately after I finished, they both said "az szép" (that's beautiful), so I felt pretty good about the strange choice, my only choice really.


Then we stood and stared some more.

Not until well afterward did I begin to consider what my grandmother may have been doing; and perhaps I should have given her more time alone there than the few moments when I stole away to sneak some photos.  When we came to this grave a couple weeks ago, during the day, it was the same type of standing and staring.  A quiet way of mourning, I later considered?  But I couldn't help but think it was more of a paralysis caused by an inability to express oneself, or due to a lack of healthy traditions around mourning.  I've seen Italian women wail and beat the ground.  It may seem incredibly awkward or inappropriate in our culture, but it must feel good to really let out your emotions that way.


I've since been speaking with friends here about visiting cemeteries.  Ancsa (sounds like on-chah) is a Hungarian elementary school teacher who shared with me that it brings her peace in her heart to visit her grandmother's grave.  Ancsa talks to her, and feels like her grandmother is with her there.  I found that very touching and realized that my grandmother may have been doing that, but obviously not out loud with us standing right there.

my Grandmother's sister: Maria, who we called Keresztmama

And then there is my Czech friend Veronika who told me that for her a cemetery is a place of peace and stillness, where it is completely normal to hang around and cry.  You certainly won't be judged or draw attention to yourself if you cry in a cemetery.  So she would go there in times of difficulty and do just that: cry freely.  

the compulsory self-portrait

I love feelings of melancholy, wonder, and awe; so I often seek out these feelings.  Cemeteries seem to help me that way.  I never considered talking to those there that are eternally physically still and quiet, yet spiritually dancing and singing.

some more relatives

The next time I'm in Vecses, I'll try to initiate a conversation with my grandfather and see what happens.  Of course, I don't believe we need physical proximity to their remains to do this, but it might inspire us, and besides, it seems like it might be tradition.

cremation towers?

The Day of the Dead was a while ago, and I apologize for the lapse in posts.  I caught a cold.  But I'm feeling better.  Yesterday I got out into the unseasonally beautiful 19 degrees for mid November.  Where did I go?  Well I planned to go to the great forest, which boarders the cemetery.  Once again, the cemetery drew me in.  I realized I'd never been to Debrecen's cemetery during daylight!

this guys seems to have caught a pike with his bare hands; not sure why he's at the cemetery...

more cremation towers? (in Debrecen)

Last weekend the Debrecen Baha'i community had the great honour of a visit from the National Spiritual Assembly of the Baha'is of Hungary.  They met with the Local Spiritual Assembly and with some of the friends here, and to my great pleasure, they met with me as well.  Also, I had the great bounty of going with them to the Debrecen cemetery to visit Mrs. Afnan's grave.  It's her previous residence where I'm staying.

Hungary's NSA and friends getting ready to pray at Mrs. Afnan's grave

Standing by her grave and praying with members of the National Spiritual Assembly was very, very powerful for me.

the vendors out front

road to the Debrecen cemetery