Ofrendas: Tres Muertes - SCP Foundation

by Din-Bidor and Kilerpoyo

I entered the Library and prepared to die. Fever consumed me from within as if my veins were filled with liquid fire, and the pain of my spasms became more and more intense. Without looking back, without asking for the compassion of others, I entered the infinite labyrinth of bookshelves, never to return; there, among the books that contain all the stories of all the worlds, I would find eternal rest.

Delirious and with my body bathed in cold sweat, I staggered through the hallways until I became lost, until time lost all meaning and the books around me were indistinguishable from one another. Then I saw a large atrium in the middle of the bookshelves, a space where there were no books, only an immense tree with a pale trunk and leafy crown. From the stories that my grandmother told me I knew that it was the ceiba, the tree that connects the world with the heavenly palaces of the gods and the dark lands of the dead.

I knew then that I had found the end of my path and, thanking the Library for granting me one last gift, I sat down at the roots of the sacred ceiba tree and gave myself to the embrace of sleep, lulled by the whispers of the wind and the incessant march of the ants. In the dream – a place between life and death – I saw the colors of the morning and heard the singing of long-extinct birds. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a room that was empty except for three stone thrones lit by a luminescence that came from nowhere. My back still rested against the merciful trunk of the ceiba tree, but the illness that afflicted me had abated: I had crossed to the other side.

Then I heard a powerful but gentle voice, a voice that welcomed me to that place beyond life. Astonished and grateful, I asked where I was and who those three thrones belonged to. The invisible speaker told me about the Three Deaths. They are not the Three Deaths of the Old World, which many fear and worship: they are Three different Deaths, as solemn as they were festive, guardians of a land as old as the roots of time, a land that some fools insisted and still insist on calling the New World. I shall now tell you, unknown reader, about those who bestow the gift of mercy.

There are as many deaths as there are stars in the sky, as there are breaths on the Earth. Deaths are legion – Thanatos, Hades, Mot, Owuo, Osiris, Xargi and countless more – gods stern but fair, compassionate but fierce. Their dominion is the peace beyond life, but also the torment that awaits the cruel. They are the guardians of eternal rest, a diverse multitude of faces and names.

You have sought the end of your pain, the sweet mercy granted by a heart that does not beat. Today you stand at the threshold of the Tres Muertes, three places of rest that eagerly await you, because it is your right to choose where immortal soul will find eternity. Listen well, dearly departed one, to the story of the lords of Abya Yala, the blessed land that gave life to your ancestors.

The Lord of Patience

Oh Lord of Patience. He Who Sits Awaiting. Listen to my humble litany and give peace to my loved ones who have gone to dance the eternal dance beyond dreams in Uku Pacha.

Guide them safely to your sacrosanct festival of Aya Marcay Quilla, where couplets are fired and mourners tear themselves apart for all the faithful departed who will rise in the eleventh month to dance to the sound of the devils' troupes.

Oh Lord of Ukhu Pacha! The dancing demons of Supay dance for you; the diablada dances to the rhythm of an inert pulse while they lead the troupes of the faithful deceased in your sacrosanct festival of Aya Marcay Quilla!

Oh, Great Iku! You who with sincerity let yourself be fooled by the feast served by that trickster Orisha! You who with humility allowed yourself to be defeated after three days by the Crucified One! All in order to give humanity a frugal and futile consolation – the vain hope that Death can be defeated!

No matter how tender, no matter how sweet…! A lie will remain a lie! And yet we thank you for such a sweet lie, because it gives us the strength to face the unfathomable beyond.

Supay! Supay! Supay! What would be of mankind without that hope? Great Lord Supay! What would have become of that gentleman who, upon seeing you threatening his servant, ordered him to hide in Samarra?

What great surprise found he when you revealed that your gesture had not been a threat, but astonishment? It was astonishment at having found him so far away, when the Fates clearly said you would collect his soul in Samarra.

Death is certain and its Lord is Holy. Saint Death! San La Muerte! Lord of Patience! Bless the payé medal that hangs from my neck, the one that – if necessary – I shall embed in my own flesh!

Good spirit of the Good Death! Please be my advocate, my shield against the bullets of my enemy. Make him feel the edge of your scythe sooner – if possible much sooner – than me.

Lord of Death and the Compass! At least grant me the futile consolation of believing myself invincible until the last moment before my unexpected death. Because to live in fear is to die in life, and to die in peace is to live in death.

Lord of Patience! Please have mercy on me….

For I admit to being cowardly and selfish.

Lord of Patience! Please be patient with me…

More later than sooner I would like to dance with you.

—Prayer of the Regretful Cynic

The Saint-King

When he came to us, people were afraid of his rattling bones, of his empty eyes, of his cloak woven of night and smoke, of the golden crown that proclaimed his divinity. They thought he had come to take them, to cut them down with his cold scythe, but he just laughed. The crowned skeleton offered the people the gift of mercy if in return they recognized him as the ruler of death, as the one who dispenses justice and grants vengeance. His name, he said, was San Pascual Bailón.

San Pascualito Rey is saint and sovereign, monk and emperor. His piety is legendary; his fury is plague and desolation. His blessing grants healing to the sick and peace to the deceased, but he is also known to bring lovers together and grant revenge against those who walk the path of evil.

Although he is king of the cemetery, San Pascualito is humble and asks little in return for his favor: a few candles on his altar and new cloaks to wear make him deeply happy. Even simple letters of gratitude are enough for him to smile with his bony face and intercede on behalf of those who seek his protection. This is how he loves his people, the poor and the helpless, those who are forgotten and excluded – death is universal, and San Pascualito loves everyone equally.

Little is known about the past of San Pascualito Rey. There are those who whisper that his identity is none other than that of Saint Pascual Bailón, who was reincarnated not as a Saint of the Lord Jesus Christ, but who descended into the depths of the Underworld where he was given his throne. The Church repudiates and fears him, because his bony guise is that of deities exiled long ago by the yoke of the cross: the old masters of Xibalbá.

It is said that when the Hero Twins – Hunahpu and Xbalanque – defeated the cruel Twelve Gods of Death in their palace at Xibalbá, the balance of the world changed. The Twelve Lords of Xibalbá had their power diminished, their pride humiliated and their cult extinguished on the Earth. Xibalbá became a place of misery, darkness, ashes and deaf echoes. Defeated, the Lords of Death decided to create a being through which they could continue their dominion over mortals, a herald that would proclaim the rebirth of their power. Thus they sent the perverse Camazotz, the bloodthirsty bat god, to kidnap a human soul.

But, in their arrogance, the Twelve Lords erred: the soul they took could not be corrupted, for it was that of a humble and pious man who had been proclaimed a Saint. This is how San Pascualito was born; he took the throne of the Lords of Xibalbá and made it his own, for he was King. Thus were the cruel Gods of the Mayan Underworld humiliated for the second time. They now lie at the feet of San Pascualito and pay homage to him, cursing him all the time while he laughs out loud.

The Pale Lady

I remember it well, so clearly, the exact moment when the last stone of the Great Temple was torn down. My world collapsed with it.

Amongst the pillars, dead Mictlantecuhtli waits dreaming. He – beloved husband of mine – lies in perpetual vigil, sunken between the tides of time like an imperturbable sentinel. Xolotl, our faithful hound, also remains there to take care of him. I was left alone, without love and without a dog to bark at me.

Depression? Of course I went into depression, honey. Believe it or not, depression is common among gods, particularly Death Gods. I stopped loving the song of the cenzontle and the color of jade. I stopped loving the song of the flowers. But what hurt the most was to stop loving my brother: Man.

I was a disaster.

I spent the whole day in my palace in Mictlán, watching Nana and Betty la Fea. I stopped putting on makeup, I stopped caring for myself, I stopped feeling me… Who was I?

When people look at me, they can see three aspects. Sometimes they see La Catrina, the bittersweet personification of the nostalgic joy of the Day of the Dead. Sometimes they see the terrifying but merciful Santa Muerte, revered by both the victim and the perpetrator. And sometimes, if you look hard, you can catch a brief glimpse of what I was: the deep, primordial roots of Mictecacíhuatl, roots that reach and coil around the Pillars of the Earth: an antiquity so profound it defies all understanding.

And it is true that, just as the Three Deaths, I am also three in one. Our essence is that of a fractal. And I am La Catrina, I am La Santa Muerte, and I am Mictecacíhuatl… and despite all this, I felt like I was nobody. Nothing. I felt so empty that I even thought about sinking into the vast sea of ​​oblivion from which no one, not even the gods, can ever return…

One day, my sister Lupita came to visit… yes that Lupita, the one with the skirt made of serpents. The one and only jefaza. And she told me "Cabrona, you can't stay here for all eternity. The alebrijes are lost, Xolotl's progeny are on strike, and the dead are dying even more. The people need you."

I would like to tell you that that made me come to my senses, that it made me freak out. That the next day I no longer felt bad and that I returned to being at 100%. But we know that it doesn't work that way. We can only put ourselves back together one piece at a time. Little by little, I started putting on makeup; little by little I started doing cosplay again; little by little I began to feel the aroma of marigold and hear the song of the hummingbird… little by little I remembered my love for people, both the living and the dead.

That's why I gave them the ritual. That's why I fulfill requests and ask for promises in return. Help you and help myself; it's a win-win. And that is why I refuse to comply with some wishes. When it's not someone's turn yet, they'll have to do it without my help. Period.

Look, I don't mean to be harsh. I know what it's like to miss someone… I know how hard it is to miss someone who has gone sooner than we'd like, but every Day of the Dead, they come back. They come back to be here among us. These days, even I get to spend some time with Mictlantecuhtli…

One thing is certain: you will be with your loved ones again, and so will I. If it's any consolation, you'll have to wait a far shorter time than me.

I can't stop you. It's not up to me. I don't think I can help you much with your burdens either. Being the Goddess of Death does not make you a mental health professional. The only thing I can do is tell you about myself and show you why I decided to wait, to stay here and give this life a second chance. It's what Mictlantecuhtli, my beloved, would have wanted. I'm sure that it's what your love would have wanted too… Shall I offer you some chocolate?

Now, wanderer, you must choose your destination, your place of rest. Wherever you go, you will be welcomed, received with the warmth of the most tender hearts. Do not be afraid, dearly deceased one, and knock on the doors of death.

After the three stories were told, the thrones transformed into black doors, and I knew I had to make my decision. I advanced hesitantly at first, as if still doubting the fate that awaited me. I looked at the three doors, at the three names inscribed on each one, at the Three Deaths that welcomed me. I closed my eyes and listened to the faint beating of my heart – my guide in that last choice.

Then, determined and without opening my eyes, I took a long step and gently knocked on the door of my eternal rest. These words that you now read are all I leave behind, an echo that dances in the wind and caresses the branches of the sacred ceiba. I hope they are of help to you when you too find yourself at the final threshold.

And all was at peace.

Felíz Día de Muertos

Ofrendas: Deadname

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