Santisima Muerte: On the Origin
and Development of a Mexican Occult Image.
by John
Thompson
Journal
of the Southwest, Vol. 40, 1998
The stripper at the Reyes y Reynas Dancing Bar, on Republica
de Cuba in the center of Mexico
City, approached and asked if I spoke Spanish. Yes, I do.
Would I buy her a drink? Of course. As she ordered a
glass of amaretto and leaned wearily on the table, my eye was drawn to the
silver pendant wedged between her breasts. I recognized the shape of Santisima
Muerte. I pointed: Who's that? It's Santisima Muerte. Tell me more, I said.
Well, God and Santisima Muerte look after me, she said, fingering the pendant. I
love La Muerte, because of her great fairness, and her great unpredictability.
You know, Death can come at any time, and eventually does come to all, rich or
poor. I nodded. We sat quietly for a few moments. A bottle broke nearby. She
smiled, and held up the image on the silver chain. I would like to give this to
you, she said. Would you accept it? Of course. She
removed the pendant and chain, and clasped it carefully around my neck. There,
she said. Promise me you'll take this with you to the
United States
and never throw it away. I promised. But, I asked, doesn't this leave you
without protection ? Oh no, she said. Look. She opened
an amulet bag tied to her wrist and pulled out a small skull carved of bone.
This is all I need, she said, and smiled.(1)
This is the story of a Mexican
occult image: Santisima Muerte, Holy Death, the robed, skeletal figure of Death
herself. In recent years I have watched the devotion to Santisima Muerte grow in
Mexico, and now
I find her image more frequently in the United
States. If she's moving into the neighborhood,
it behooves us to make her acquaintance.
A note to the fearful: although a
thoroughly evil figure to some, in current popular belief Santisima Muerte is a
complex, multi-faceted spirit, possessing great power which can be used to
achieve both good and evil ends. No longer the sole property of the sorcerer,
she now occupies a place of honor in the Mexican popular pantheon. She avails
herself to "good" Catholics and "bad" witches alike. Indeed, after pursuing
Santisima Muerte through central
Mexico and the
borderlands for several years, I have reached my own level of appreciation and
respect for this flexible folk deity, and for the ingenuity of the Mexican
imagination that has invented and re-invented her.
Santisima Muerte apparently began
life as a specialist in love magic. The printed prayer to her, the Oracion de la Santisima Muerte, is a modern-day throwback to
a specific form of medieval Spanish love magic: the spell to bring back a
wandering lover. Now, however, Santisima Muerte has gone beyond love spells to
become a shadowy patroness of all kinds of Mexican magic, the pale and
implacable counterpart of that other great protector of the Mexican soul, the
Virgin of Guadalupe.
In this paper, I begin by
describing my encounters with Santisima Muerte in
Tucson and along the U.S.-Mexico
border. I then discuss the phenomenon of Mexican oraciones and printed spell cards in general, looking
especially at the Mediterranean origin of the erotic domination spells we find
in Latin America today. Next, I try to understand the
history of the Oracion de la Santisima Muerte--itself
a spell of erotic domination--in colonial
Mexico. Finally,
I look at Santisima increasingly diversified role in Mexican magic and religion
today, with a nod to her growing presence in the United Stares.
In 1997, in
Tucson,
Arizona, I bought a small glass bottle
containing half an ounce of Santisima Muerte perfume. It cost $1.50. The Skippy
Corporation, based in Detroit and
Los Angeles, made the stuff, so the
bottle was also labeled in English: "Holy Death.' The liquid in the bottle was
bright red. I called the shop lady over to open the locked case and retrieve a
bottle for me. What's it for, I asked. I have no idea,
she said. The first bottle in the display was only partly full. She uncapped the
bottle behind it, which was also half full, and somewhat recklessly topped off
the first bottle. Careful there, I said, don't spill any.... Ehh, she said, tossing the second bottle away, I don't
believe in this stuff. I paid for the bottle, took it home, and opened it to
smell the Perfume of Holy Death. It smelled like strawberry candy.
I first met Santisima Muerte in
1992, in Magdalena,
Sonora,
Mexico, just south of the
Arizona border. Pilgrims visit the
reclining image of San Francisco Xavier in Magdalena on
his feast day in October; non-pilgrims also come to town for the carnival
atmosphere. In one of the many religious souvenir stores lining the plaza, I
bought a folded piece of paper entitled Oracion de la
Sta. Muerte. I studied the printed image of Santisima Muerte on its cover, the
image that I would later come to know so well: a grinning skeleton in a long
gown, veiled and haloed, holding the Earth in one hand and a balancing scale in
the other.
Unfolding the paper, I found the
actual Oracion de la Santa Muerte. I tried to
interpret the prayer; it began by asking Jesus Christ to bring "Fulano,"(2) tamed and humiliated, to the feet of the
supplicant. Next, it invoked Santisima Muerte, Holy Death, for protection. It
then asked Death to torment Fulano, so that he never
rests and "always thinks of me."(3)
Three other prayers were also
printed on the folded paper. The Oracion al Espiritu de la Persona invoked Fulano's own spirit to bring him, broken and humiliated,
back to the supplicant's feet. The Oracion al Angel de
la Guarda asked Guardian Angel to make him forget "the
woman he has" and return to the woman reciting the prayer. Lastly, the Oracion a la Sabila, or Prayer to
the Aloe Plant, asked for good luck, protection, and freedom from evil,
seemingly as a kind of antidote to the heavy business of the other three
prayers. (I would later see this particular package of prayers, printed together
and sold under the Santisima Muerte title, wherever I traveled in
Mexico.)
Later, back in
Tucson, I found Santisima Muerte's image at a Hispanic magic supply store called
Flores Nacional. In 1994 I found her there on a
laminated wallet card, with a shorter version of the Oracion de la Sta. Muerte on the back. I also found her
picture on a small bag of magic powder, with the legend, in English: "to conquer
love." Over the following years I would find other Muerte items at Flores Nacional, including the vial of Skippy brand Santisima
Muerte perfume, red Santisima Muerte candles from
Chicago, and a canister of Santisima
Muerte spiritual incense produced by the Indio Poderoso Company, also of
Chicago, with the Oracion de la Santisima Muerte printed in both Spanish and
English.
Eventually, I discovered another
Arizona outlet for Santisima
Muerte: the Southwest Supermarket chain, widespread in
Arizona and currently expanding
into Texas,
California, and
New Mexico. In June of 1997, I
bought a Santisima Muerte candle off the shelf in one of the Southwest
Supermarket stores in Tucson. The
Muerte candles, displayed alongside the Saint Jude, Nino de Atocha, and Pancho Villa candles, are made by the Recd
Candle Company of San Antonio, Texas.(4) All the Southwest Supermarkets I've
visited in Tucson carry the Muerte candies, and the assistant manager of the St.
Mary's Road store assured me that all branches carry pretty much the same
inventory. I called a branch in
Phoenix to check, and it also
carries them.
Interestingly, the popular El
Charro restaurant in
Tucson buys Santisima Muerte candles
at Southwest Supermarkets for resale as curios in the restaurant's gift shop.
There they are referred to as "Day of the Dead candles," apparently unaware of
the prayer on the back whereby a scorned woman curses her man for leaving her
and works a spell of domination to bring him back. (From what I have seen, there
is no direct historical connection between Santisima Muerte and the various Day
of the Dead celebrations in
Mexico. As the
image of Santisima Muerte becomes more common and accepted, though, it may get
some popular use during Day of the Dead.)
In spite of her appearances in the
United Stares, it's still much easier to find Santisima Muerte's image on the Mexican side of the border. In 1994,
in the border city of Nogales,
Sonora, I bought a Santisima
Muerte pendant from a young girl on the street. "What's it for?" I asked.
"Protection," she said. More recently, in April of 1997, I went to
Nogales, again looking for Santisima
Muerte in the magic stores. No problem: the saleslady at Yerberia Medicinales sold me
Santisima Muerte soap, Santisima Muerte candles, Santisima Muerte aerosol spray,
and a red plastic statue of Santisima Muerte about five inches tall, with
magical seeds molded into its base. As I expected, she also carried the Oracion de la Santisima Muerte, in the same format I had
seen years before in Magdalena.
I asked her what the image was
for. "Weil," she said, "for love. And for protection from your
enemies." Indeed, the candle I bought had "Contra Mis Enemigos" printed under Muerte's image on the front. "Is the image primarily used by
women?" I asked. "Both men and women use her," she said, "for both reasons: love
and protection." "Is the image relatively new in
Nogales?" "No, she's been around a
long time." "How long?" "Oh, I don't know ... many
years, a long time." She told me that the magic supplies she stocked--the usual
array of candles, powders, liquids, statues, books, printed prayers, and
shrink-wrapped amulets on cardboard--mostly came from Mexico City, with a few
things coming from Monterrey. "In Mexico
City," she said, "people use Santisima Muerte all the
time, but here, in Nogales--well,
they're a little afraid."
A few blocks farther away from the
border, Felix Castro runs the Centrobotanica Azteca in
a narrow alleyway off the main street. He displays his herbs and magic
paraphernalia on a metal shelf bolted to the wall, and the people seeking his
assistance rest on a shaded bench during their consultation. He docs a good
trade in Santisima Muerte items, especially the oracion, which he seils as a part
of a love magic package, along with a dead hummingbird. He tells me to place the
hummingbird--which comes dried, wrapped in red thread, and stapled to a piece of
cardboard--next to a photo of the woman (or man, as the case may be) that I
desire. Then I am to recite the prayer to Santisima Muerte until my loved one
comes to me.(5)
As I traveled farther into
Mexico, I would
come to realize that Santisima Muerte's presence along
the border, well established as it is, pales next to her reign in the center of
the country. II, as the owner of the
Nogales magic store noted, border
inhabitants are still "a little afraid" of Santisima Muerte, they may only be
behind the times. But more on that later.
It was a slow weekday afternoon at
the Mercado Sonora, the main magic market in Mexico
City. I sat with Santiago Bastida on empty crates behind ho booth, where he sells
religious goods, magic supplies, and sewing notions.
Santiago one-third of Citrun Nueve Santiago, one of the
most prolific publishers of oraciones in
Mexico, and I
was trying to understand how the business works. Between customers,
Santiago described, with undisguised
glee, the brainstorming sessions during which he and his two associates dream up
new oraciones to print. We have some new products
coming out, he said: a line of Santeria oraciones,
another of "Vudu" oraciones,
a line dedicated to Satanist figures, and, oh yes, a series of Wiccan spells--prayers to trees, that sort of thing. But
Santiago, I said, I didn't think
Wicca was established in
Mexico. It's
not, he exclaimed. We're going to establish it!
The Oracion de la Santisima Muerte wasn't the only prayer card I
bought in Magdalena,
Sonora. I found several other oraciones for sale there as well, of several different
varieties: prayers to "official" religious figures (c.g., Santo Nino de Atocha, Santo
Nino Cieguito); to folk saints, historical or
legendary (Juan Soldado, Jesus Malverde, Nino Fidencio); to more
ephemeral spirits (Santisima Muerte, Tomasito Herrera,
Juan Perdido); and to other sources of power, such as
the Powerful Hand of the Badger (la Mano Poderosa del Tejon), the Master
Key (Llave Maestra), and the
Miraculous Buddha of Love (Milagroso Buda del Amor).
Later, on several trips to
Mexico City from 1995 through 1997,
I would collect more than 150 different oraciones from
street vendors and the magic booths in the public markets. Santiago Bastida told me that Citrun Nueve Santiago alone has printed more than two hundred
different oraciones over the years. (My many attempts
to get a list from him have failed; he forgot the list at home, or decided it
didn't exist after all, or failed to show up at an appointed time. I suspect
either the list doesn't exist or he simply doesn't want me to have it.)
Most Mexican oraciones are printed on a colored cardstock known as cartulina, with an image on one side and the prayer on the
other. Others are on folded newsprint, like the Santisima Muerte prayer. The
prayers themselves generally follow the same form: the invocation of the source
of power, the request for a favor, and a final benediction. Ritual instructions
may be tacked on the end. Many recommend saying a few Our Fathers. The prayer to
the Hand of the Badger--a male prayer for love--instructs the lovelorn fellow to
recite the prayer on Tuesdays and Fridays, at midnight, calling out the name of the desired woman three
times. Some oraciones call for a specific
product--say, "Congo Powder"--conveniently available from the same company that
publishes the oracion.
The production value of the oraciones varies. The image on the front may be a photo,
print, or line drawing. Drawings range from crude sketches to carefully drawn
renderings; photos can be clearly reproduced or murky and tantalizingly out of
focus. There may be several different styles of the same prayer, with different
artwork, either from different publishers or in different editions of the prayer
by the same publisher. At one point in 1996, shortages in the usual colored
cardstock led to the printing of oraciones on cheap
newsprint (papel revolucionario, according to
Santiago). Within a few months, the
shortage had eased and printers were using the colored cardstock again. In 1997,
Citrun Nueve started
experimenting with a glossy white paper, called papel
canadiense, striving for a more sophisticated-looking
product.
As a collector of oraciones, I always look for the magic booth (or booths) in
the public market of Mexican towns. Once there, I linger as inconspicuously as
possible, observing the action and the display. Eventually I ask to see the
oraciones, and flip through them looking for new or
rare ones. During this search, I often have to step aside so the vendor can
retrieve a specific one for a customer. People usually buy a single oracion, to address a specific problem. The vendor may
suggest a particular one, or one may have been recommended to the buyer by
someone else--a friend, perhaps, or a specialist. If buyers need any other
materials--candles, herbs, incense, whatever--they can buy them there or at one
of the other booths in the market specializing in such paraphernalia.
The oraciones contain pleas for all the things people want:
love, luck, health, wealth, power, protection--the list goes on. The number of
oraciones in my collection offering domination over
the will of others indicates that many people desire such control. It perhaps
goes without saying that the spirits invoked to grant domination over others are
generally not approved Catholic saints. They are more likely to be the souls of
such beings as Juan Minero, Don Diego Duende, Santiago Mulato, Rosita
Alvarez, or the Poderoso Monicato. Like Santisima Muerte, these spirits are asked to
torment Fulano, to keep him from eating, resting, or
sleeping, until he comes crawling, utterly humiliated, to your feet.
Mexicans aren't the only ones
using these kinds of oraciones; people in other Latin
American countries use them as well. Angelina Pollak-Eltz notes the existence of similar prayer cards in
Venezuela, known
there as ensalmes, and states, "Ensalmes are usually orally transmitted. Today, however,
many printed prayers to the saints, to Maria Lionza,
and to spirits can be bought in the `perfumerias.'
Indications are given on how to use them, and what ritual has to accompany them
in order to be effective. This is proof of the commercialization of magic rites.
Furthermore, the intervention of an `ensalmista' is no
longer necessary, as anybody can use the spell in the prescribed way.(6)
In Colombia, "el numero de oraciones y conjuros
en los campos y pueblos colombianos, es casi inagotable. En las plazas de
mercado venden las oraciones en hojas sueltas y a precios muy elevados, pues
consideran que quien tenga la oracion debe guardarla
en secreto, ya que tiene en su poder un gran tesoro."(7) Other authors note the use of oraciones in Peru and Argentina.(8)
As is suggested by their use
throughout Latin America, the practice of using these
magical oraciones originated in
Spain. Gonzalo
Aguirre Beltran, the great Mexican anthropologist, states that colonial Spanish
women of mixed race ("las mulatas blancas de Cadiz") brought
oraciones to Mexico.(9) Oraciones were widely used in colonial Mexico; Noemi Quezada discusses the role of ensalmadores, specialists who used oraciones for healing during the colonial era, in spite of
repeated attempts by the Mexican version of the Spanish Inquisition to ban such
practices.(10) According to Diana Ceballos Gomez,
ensalmadores also played an important role in what is
now Colombia; she agrees with the Spanish origin of the practice, and sets in it
a possible Arabic origin derived from the curative use of verses of the
Koran.(11)
Fortunately for historians, the
Mexican Inquisition kept fairly good records of the activities of the people
they punished. In fact, scholars have relied on those records to learn most of
what we know about sorcery in colonial
Mexico. From
them we learn that sorcerers were tried by the Holy Office in
Mexico City as early as 1536. In
that year, inquisitors tried a Puerto Rican cowherd named Elvira Jimenez for
teaching a Mexican widow how to use incantations to procure another husband.(12)
(This early example of the Inquisition's work poignantly illustrates the Holy
Office's ineffectiveness in quashing love magic. Incantations to get a
husband--or keep him, or render him stupid remain among the most common forms of
magic used in
Mexico today.)
Spanish colonists succeeded in
smuggling magical texts into colonial
Mexico, in spite
of attempts by customs agents to find and confiscate such materials. In 1540, a
gentleman named Pedro Ruiz Calderon was tried by the Inquisition for necromancy,
the art of divination by contact with the spirits of the dead. Recently arrived
in Mexico,
Calderon had "publicly announced that he had a command of black magic ... (and)
had an extensive library collected in Europe from which
he drew his incantations and spells."(13)
Many such books of magic spells
were circulating throughout Europe at the time. Cirac Estonapan, in his study of
the trials of sorcerers by the Inquisition in
Spain, describes
a wide selection of prohibited books containing conjuros, spells and prayers to various beings. Describing one such book, he states, "En todo el manuscrito, como en las demas obras de este genero, anda mezclado el romance con el
latin, la letra con los simbolos, lo inmundo con lo santo y el paganismo grosero y
bajo con el judaismo y cristianismo."(14) Such books, with their spells and procedures, are still in print and available today in Mexico and other Latin American countries, as well as in Tucson. Vendors
of magic goods often carry a selection of these manuals, with brightly colored
covers and names like Magia Roja, Magia Verde, El Libro
Infernal, and El Libro de San Cipriano.(15)
I have seen the Libro de San
Cipriano, the Book of Saint Cyprian, perhaps more frequently than the others.
This book purports to contain the secret knowledge of Cyprian of Antioch, who
later became Saint Cyprian. Cyprian was born sometime in the third century after
Christ and died early in the fourth century, around 304 C.E. A well-educated
Mediterranean fellow, Cyprian "studied philosophy at
Athens, the occult sciences in
Phrygia, the secrets of divination in Chaldea, and the art of casting spells in
Egypt."(16)
Cyprian, in fact, specialized in love magic. He was expert in the use of
necromantic spells to subjugate the will of married women for adulterous
purposes.(17) We are told that Cyprian's conversion to
Christianity resulted from his inability to seduce a particular woman, Justina, who resisted Cyprian's magical power by invoking
the greater power of God. After this failure, Cyprian "burned his magic books,
embraced Christianity, and lived ascetically," eventually becoming a bishop and
dying a martyr.(18)
As it happens, though, Cyprian's
knowledge of sorcery was not forever lost. The introduction to the Libro de San
Cipriano informs us that in the year 1001 a monk named Jonas Sufurino lived in the German monastery of Brooken. We are told that Jonas, the librarian of the
monastery, spent many years studying the esoteric texts hidden away in the
library, until one night he decided to pursue the ultimate knowledge of the dark
arts. That night, on a stormy mountaintop, Lucifer himself delivered a copy of
Cyprian's book of spells to Jonas, who in turn released it to the world. Or, at
least, so goes the legend.(19)
In any event, Cyprian's legendary
spells had a lasting impact on Mediterranean magic. At about the same time as
Jonas Sufurino's revelation on the mountaintop (the
eleventh century C.E.), sorcerers in
Egypt were using
the so-called Spell of Cyprian of Antioch, which like other "binding" spells of
the ancient world, was designed to "overpower the mind and body of the victim,
the client's intended lover." Cyprian's spell called on the powers that be to
"(fill) her from the toenails of her feet to the hair of her head with desire
and longing and lust, as her mind is distracted, her senses go numb, and her
ears are ringing. She must not eat or drink, slumber or sleep."(20)
A few centuries later, erotic
domination spells similar to Cyprian's were common in medieval
Spain. In her
article on medieval Spanish love magic, Maria Helena Sanchez Ortega describes
wandering sorceresses who were hired by the women of
Spain to solve
problems of love. These sorceresses used incantations--invocations of
spirits--to attract a lover and make him stay. If a man had left a woman, she
might also use certain spells to "avenge his neglect."(21)
As Sanchez Ortega makes clear,
women used these spells for survival as much as for romance: "the desired
(man's) presence basically meant the support of someone who would help the women
overcome life's difficulties in a society controlled by men economically as well
as religiously.... Isolated in society, (the single woman) risked falling into
the category of witch.... The sorceresses and their clients, therefore, were
deeply invested in winning over and retaining the man who ... could ward off
poverty and social marginalization."(22)
Sanchez Ortega is talking about
medieval Spain,
but could just as easily be discussing
Mexico--or any
number of countries--in the present day. A side-by-side reading of these
medieval Spanish oraciones with those of contemporary
Mexico drives
the point home. Both have the same tone, the same intent, and in some cases even
the same wording. The medieval Spanish oraciones
described by Sanchez Ortega live again every time a Mexican woman recites oraciones to Santa
Barbara, Santa Marta Enamorada,
or the Anima Sola to bring back a wandering man.
In fact, the Oracion de la Anima Sola, the
Lonely Soul of Purgatory, whose existence in medieval Spain is noted by both
Sanchez Ortega and Cirac Estonapan,(23) is one of the more common oraciones in Mexico today. Its disturbing words echo back to Spain, and further, to ancient Mediterranean binding spells: "Anima Sola ... por las entranas de la
virgen Maria ... te pido que me metas en el corazon de
... lo trigas [sic] amis pies manso y humilde.... Si
estuviese en casa de otra persona mi voz llegue a sus oidos a perturbarlo, no le dejes tener sosiego ni
tranquilidad."(24)
And, what Sanchez Ortega calls
"the well-known refrain ... `So that he can neither eat nor drink,'"(25) which
we recognize from the Egyptian Spell of Cyprian, still echoes today throughout
much of Latin America. It is heard, for instance, when
Venezuelan women recite the Oracion del Tabaco, using the smoke of a cigar to call the spirits of
Santa Marta, Santa Elena, and San Cipriano, along with the peculiarly Venezuelan
spirit of Maria Lionza, "para que me le partas el corazon a fulano, y no me le dejes tranquilidad, ni para comer, ni beber, ni dormir con mujer ... hasta no venir en donde mi manso y humilde amis pies."(26) It is
heard again in
Peru, where the
Oracion a Santa Elena contains the same language,(27) and in
Colombia, where
Santa Elena is again invoked: "le rezan con vehemencia las mujeres casadas que sufren las ausencia total o parcial del
marido."(28)
And on the U.S.-Mexico border in
Nogales,
Sonora, in 1997, I bought the same Oracion a Santa Elena, containing the same ancient
Mediterranean curse of erotic domination used for centuries by abandoned women.
I read the words and wondered: how many other ritual texts of such antiquity
remain so alive in the present day?
The cab driver didn't know where
we were, so I got out and started hiking the loop roads of the Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico,
wandering past the strange buildings and monuments rising from a rolling field
of black lava on the south side of Mexico
City. I had come that day, uninvited and unannounced, to
meet Noemi Quezada, the great ethnologist and
historian of colonial love magic. At last I found her building, and stated my
case at the front desk. Oh no, said the receptionist, the doctora is in conference today and leaves the country
tomorrow. As I stood pondering this turn of events, a woman on a pay phone
caught my eye and pointed urgently at another woman walking hurriedly past us.
It was her.
She was, in fact, leaving the next
day for Ecuador,
and yes, she had only a few minutes between sessions, but she invited me to tag
along and asked me why I had come. I described my search for the origins of
Santisima Muerte, and my attempts to read the Inquisition documents in the
National Archive. I had read her 1974 article, "Oraciones magicas en la colonia," in which she listed the oraciones mentioned in the Inquisition records, and had
noticed that Santisima Muerte was not on the list. Was she quite sure that
Santisima Muerte was not mentioned in the documents? Yes, she said, I'm quite
sure. For a few moments, we discussed other possible sources of information, and
then she had to go. Is there anything else? she asked.
Ah, yes, I stuttered. Could she possibly sign my copy of her latest book?
So who is Santisima Muerte? We
recognize her prayer ("don't give Fulano a single
tranquil moment ... torment him so he always thinks of me") as a variant on the
familiar Mediterranean refrain of love and domination, one of the Greatest Hits
of the millennia. But where did the connection with Death, with the skeleton in
the robe, come from?
Did it come from
Spain? Probably not, at least not directly. While Santisima Muerte's prayer shares certain features with medieval
Spanish oraciones, it does not appear in either
Sanchez Ortega's or Cirac Estonapan's discussions. Francisco Rodriguez Marin, in his
1927 study of Spanish oraciones imported to the
colonial New World, makes no mention of her.(29) And, as Quezada confirmed,
Santisima Muerte isn't mentioned in the Mexican Inquisition records from the
colonial era, while so many other imported Spanish prayers are.(30)
Furthermore, Santisima Muerte,
popular to the point of overkill in modern
Mexico, is not
mentioned in reports from other Latin American countries colonized by
Spain. In
Venezuela, for
example, Pollak-Eltz describes the contents of a
typical perfumeria without mentioning anything like
Santisima Muerte. It would be virtually impossible to write a similar
description of the magic stores in
Mexico without
mentioning the figure of Santisima Muerte.
We do, however, find a practice
similar in the cult of San la Muerte in
Argentina. This
cult revolves around tiny statues of skeletons, usually holding scythes, often
carved from human bone. Also known as Santo Esqueleto
and Senor de la Muerte, the image is used for the same purposes as Santisima
Muerte in Mexico: for protection from enemies, for general success in love, and
to avenge neglect by a scornful lover.(31) The prayers to San la Muerte may be
orally transmitted,(32) handwritten or, less commonly, mechanically printed.(33)
They often contain the familiar language of domination, asking that the victim
of the spell be made crazy with lust and come crawling in tears to the feet of
the supplicant.(34)
How to explain this parallel? The
content of the Argentinian practice certainly seems
similar to that of Santisima Muerte in
Mexico. They
both invoke Holy Death and seem to be based on the same Mediterranean ritual
texts of domination. But do they reflect a common imported practice of invoking
Holy Death, or did two separate populations have the same idea? I don't know. If
Santisima Muerte were connected geographically with San la Muerte--that is, if
the practice of invoking Holy Death were spread uniformly across
Latin America from
Mexico down to
Argentina--I
would favor the "common Spanish ancestor" theory, especially since the text of
the prayer itself is so similar in both. As it is, though, I lean toward the
"convergent evolution" idea, where two separate communities both, for whatever
reason, decided to assimilate the image of Death with imported Spanish prayers
of domination.
So if the Spanish did not bring
the prayer of Santisima Muerte with them, why did the Mexicans concoct it?
We know that many indigenous
groups in pre-Hispanic
Mexico had some
form of cult of death or of the dead. The exact content and meaning of these
cults is not known for sure, but "la persistencia y
abundancia de figuras relacionadas con la muerte en los
codices nahoas, mixtecos y
mayas, los ideogramas formadas con craneos, costillas y huesos, nos llevan a la conclusion de
haber sido sumamente extenso el culto que los indigenas prehispanicas de Mexico guardaron
al Senor de los Muertos."(35) Anyone who has visited
the Anthropology
Museum in Mexico
City probably remembers the striking sculpture of Coatlicue, mother of all Nahua
gods, the great creator/destroyer, wearing her decorative garland of skulls.(36)
Of course, the Spanish also
brought images of skeletons to
Mexico. Carlos
Navarrete, in researching the Mexican cult to San
Pascualito Key (a sacred figure of a skeleton in
Chiapas), assembled a list of influential Spanish ideas about death which may
have affected the development of that particular cult.(37) Medieval Europeans developed many frightening images of
skeletons as, confronted by plague, they expressed their fear of death and,
inspired by Christian theology, they worried about their ultimate salvation.
William Schurz notes the tendency of the colonial
Spaniards to dwell on death "with morbid insistence."(38)
So Mexicans had a variety of local
and imported ideas and images from which to fashion their beliefs about death.
And, if I may generalize, I have observed in
Mexico a certain
fascination with death and a willingness to look at it head on. As evidence I
would mention everything from the frequent use of skeletal imagery in art and
popular culture to the stunning photo spreads of accident and murder victims in
tabloids and crime magazines. For whatever reason, death is a common motif in
Mexico. In the
words of Octavio Paz, "Para
el habitante de Nueva York, Paris o Londres, la muerte
es la palabra que jamas se pronuncia porque quema los
labios. El mexicano, en cambio, la frecuenta, la burla, la acaricia, duerme con
ella, la festeja, es uno de sus juguetes favoritos y su amor mas
permanente."(39)
Beyond merely becoming friendly
with death, some Mexicans have also chosen to venerate her. I mentioned one
example earlier: San Pascualito Rey, the miraculous
skeleton image in Chiapas.(40) I also recently found
another sacred skeleton, known simply as Santa Muerte, in the town of
Santa Ana, Michoacan. Visitors to the
church of Santa
Ana worship the small carved skeleton and fill its
niche with offerings. Interestingly, Santisima Muerte candles burn by the niche
and pendants of Santisima Muerte adorn the image's forehead, wrist, and feet.
So, in my efforts to explain the
roots of Santisima Muerte in
Mexico, I have
no shortage of skeletal imagery to turn to, both in indigenous and colonial
culture, both in colonial and modern times. The actual
origin of the specific image and prayer of Santisima Muerte, however, remains a
mystery.
Serge Gruzinski, in his book Guerra de las Imagenes, notes a source
describing an image of Santa Muerte in 1797. "Vayamos a las llanuras esteparias del Norte,"
writes Gruzinski, "a San
Luis de la Paz, en 1797. De nuevo, reina el silencio de la noche. Una treintena
de indios se encierran en su capilla, beben peyotl,
enciendan las velas al reves, hacen bailar a unos
munecos
..., golpean las cruces con velas de cera; atan con una cuerda mojada una
figura de la Santa Muerte y amenazan con azotarla y quemarla si `no hace el
milagro' de concederles lo que reclaman."(41)
Another source
places the origin of the prayer to Santisima Muerte in
the eighteenth century, as part of a campaign to make death less threatening: "Fue en el siglo XVIII cuando se trato de
quitarle lo terrorifico para darle el aspecto de
amabilidad viendola sin miedo y con fe, ejemplo de
esto es la oracion titulada a la Santa Muerte."(42)
And, back in the realm of popular
legend, a special edition of the Mexican magazine Mundo Esoterico recently featured
Santisima Muerte on its cover, describing her as one of the "most controversial"
images of Mexican magic and telling her story thus: In 1800, in
Cordoba, Veracruz, a local sorcerer had a
vision of the figure of Death in a dream. When he awoke, he shook oft the
frightening dream and went to his consultorio, that
is, his office and consulting room, where he was stunned to find that the same
image of Death had appeared on the roof. In fear, he ran to a nearby church and
asked the priest to come see the image, but the priest refused, saying the image
was proof that the sorcerer had been practicing black magic. Over the next few
weeks, the image gradually faded, but the sorcerer began to have prophetic
dreams, wherein Death spoke to him. In the final dream Death ordered him to make
an image of her and to burn red candles to her, promising all of her devotees a
painless death. "Asi," concludes the Mundo Esoterico article, "es como dio inicio el culto a esta imagen que ha
cautivado a miles de personas."(43)
The Oracion a la Santisima Muerte shows up in many
twentieth-century works on the anthropology of
Mexico. In 1947,
Frances Toor mentioned it in her Treasury of Mexican
Folkways, noting the existence of "various (prayers) addressed to Holy Death ...
they beg that the person they want be given no peace until he is at the
supplicant's side."(44) Aguirre Beltran, in his fieldwork in Cuijla in 1948-49, also noted the existence of prayers to
Santisima Muerte, and may have been the first to record the current format of
the oraciones: "La mayoria
de ellas estan impresas en cartones de colores amarillo, rojo y verde, y tienen en el anverso la imagen de un santo y en el reverso la oracion."(45)
Isabel Kelly found the prayer to
Santisima Muerte used in love magic in the Laguna area of northern
Mexico in the
1950s. Carlos Navarrete collected prayers to Santisima
Muerte in Chiapas in the 1960s,
and Marcela Olavarrieta, in the 1970s, reports the use
of the Santisima Muerte oracion for erotic magic in
the Tuxtla
Mountains, an area of
Veracruz
famed for sorcery.(46)
Maria de la Luz Bernal, in her generally anecdotal book Mitos y magos
mexicanos, describes Santisima Muerte love magic in the 1970s, warning that "los doctos en el
conocimiento del sobrenatural han considerado ilicito
este tipo de magia, ya que existe el peligro de causar un terrible dano a terceras personas.... Todo aquello que se promete a
la muerte, debe cumplirse. Faltar a una promesa es exponer la vida misma."(47)
She goes on to describe the actual
use of the image by groups of women who gather to do their "trabajos negros." Dressed in
black, kneeling before the image of Santisima Muerte with candles in their
hands, they sing their "terrible litany":
Santisima Muerte, torturalo. Santisima
Muerte, desesperalo.
Santisima Muerte, angustialo. Santisima Muerte, mortificalo ... (fulano de tal) ... torturado estas (fulano de tal) ... desesperado esta.(48)
So, to summarize, the Oracion a la Santisima Muerte combines the graphic
representation of Death with the ancient erotic spells and invocations of
spirits popular in medieval
Spain and around
the Mediterranean. When the Spanish introduced these
spells to the New World, they were received by an
indigenous culture already familiar with both love magic(49) and the graphic representation of Death. Did the
Spanish bring the Oracion de la Santisima Muerte with
them? I don't think so. I think the oracion was
invented later, when the potent image of Death was added to a new version of the
standard imported ritual text of erotic domination, to achieve an age-old goal:
to bring back a wandering man. But, as we shall see, Santisima Muerte has
outgrown her role as a specialist in love magic, to become an all-purpose
magical figure, virtually unlimited in her powers.
Judith Rodriguez de Canal leaned
on the counter of her hole-in-the-wall religious print shop in downtown
Mexico City and pondered the image
of Santisima Muerte. Well, she said, it's for protection, and for assistance,
and for a good death. I remarked on the change I had perceived in Santisima
Muerte's reputation. Oh yes, Judith said. When I was a
chamaca (little kid), Santisima Muerte was used for
black magic. But now, everyone asks for her! They call her La Nina, or La Nina
Blanca. Judith shrugged and smiled wryly, as if to say, What will they think of next?
In 1995, when I first went to the
Mercado Sonora in Mexico City,
Santisima Muerte was everywhere. Rows of molded plastic statues of her image,
from two to sixteen inches high, lined the tables of the merchants. Posters and
pendants of her hung on display. I easily bought several different versions of
her printed oracion. I also found her image for sale
at the Basilica de la Virgen de Guadalupe, the main pilgrimage center of
Mexico and one
of the largest in the world. Every illegal vendor crowding the plaza had a few
pendants and medals of Santisima Muerte dangling amidst the Guadalupes. Now, with each succeeding visit to
Mexico, I have
watched Santisima Muerte become more visible, more prominent, evolving from an
expediter of love magic to a all-purpose figure of
protection and power.
So is she good or evil? It depends
on whom you talk to. By 1997, vendors in the Mercado Sonora were advising me
that whether Muerte is good or evil depends on the color of the robe she wears,
a new theory which has led to new product lines of Muertes dressed in robes of various colors. Santiago Bastida, the vendor and printer of oraciones, explained that under the new color system each
color of Santisima Muerte has a different purpose. A black Muerte continues to
be a fearful image, one used for evil works such as killing one's enemies. A red
Muerte fulfills the old role of attracting a lover. Green and gold Muertes bring money, and a blue Muerte, he explained, is for
"tranquilizing people." "Like who," I asked, bewildered. "Like a violent
spouse," he said.
But it is the white Muerte whose
influence has grown the most. Far from a figure of evil, the Hermana Blanca--or Nina Blanca or simply La Blanca--is a
benevolent spirit offering protection to her devotees. So benign is the white
Santisima Muerte that she has become accepted, if perhaps not welcomed, in some
Catholic churches. Indeed, as I wandered through the arcade of religious
statuary stores behind the National Cathedral in Mexico
City, most of which sell a very traditional selection of
Catholic statues, I was surprised to see an image of Santisima Muerte on the
shelf in one of them. The salesgirl confirmed that it was Santisima Muerte, and
yes, it is approved of by the Church, as long as it is the white form, La
Blanca. In fact, she said, a local chapel had ordered a statue of La Blanca
"this tall," she demonstrated, holding her hand about four feet off the ground.
What's La Blanca for? For good luck, the salesgirl said.
One popular magic book, Brujeria a
la Mexicana, is also participating in the attempt to
salvage Santisima Muerte's reputation with the Oracion a el Dolor de Santisima
Muerte. The prayer bemoans the use of Santisima Muerte by the enemies of God, who persuade innocent women to use the image for evil ends: "Oh Santisima Muerte, Usted que en silencio soporta la pena
de ver mancillado su Sacratisimo y Celestial nombre,
que los enemigos de Dios utilizan con fines mal,volos y perjudiciales, por favor ayude con su
Celestial Poder a todas las mujeres que han tenido la desdicha de caer en las
garras de los enemigos de Dios."(50)
Another admirer of Santisima
Muerte, a vendor in the Mercado Sonora, explains Santisima Muerte's good side and her specific ability to assist
Mexican women by bringing back family members who have gone to the
United States to
work:
Tenemos a la Santisima Muerte, que se le adora
bastante en los negocios y en las casas.
Se le adora porque ella ayuda como una proteccion,
para que nos protejamos de las envidias,
de la maldad, de la mala voluntad que nos
rodea. Nosotros le llamamos la
Hermana Blanca, no se le ve con temor, sino con
adoracion, porque hace muchos milagros, sobre
todo cuando queremos que vuelva una
persona ausente, por ejemplo, un hijo. Tenemos hijos que se van a ganar un centavo fuera de la ciudad de Mexico, que se van de braceros a los Estados Unidos. Ese problema lo vemos casi
a diario. Cuando no se va el hijo, se va
la esposa, se va la hija o se va la hermana, que, se, yo. Para que regrese, por medio de oraciones se invoca
al espiritu de la Santisima Muerte y al espiritu
de "fulano de tal," el que se fue, y luego se
regresa.(51)
Still, in spite of this recent
movement to accentuate Santisima Muerte's positive
works, she remains a dualistic force, capable of great evil, to the extent that
some recommend not messing with her at all. Claudio V. de la Cruz, in his Recetario de magia blanca (Recipe Book of White Magic), offers the following warning: "Vela de la Santa Muerte: Por favor nunca use esta
vela ya que solo le acarreara muy malos ratos a su vida y un karma que muy dificilmente podra borrar en esta
vida."(52) If you do decide
to invoke Santisima Muerte,
you must be prepared, according to Maria Teresa Sepulveda, who describes the prayer to Santisima Muerte, along with other common prayers of domination, and says: "Muchas de estas oraciones se consideran 'malas'
porque en ellas se invoca el diablo y a los espiritus
infernales; antes de emplearlas, el usuario debe de estar 'preparado' corporal y
animicamente, es decir, debe guardar abstinencia
sexual y estar decidido a entregar su alma a los seres invocados, a cambio del
deseo solicitado."(53)
Certainly, some Mexicans have put
Santisima Muerte to some unseemly uses. Adolfo Constanzo, the leader of the band of "narcosatanicos" who committed the famous
Matamoros
drug murders of the late 1980s, apparently found her useful. Edward Humes, in his book on the episode, exhibits some photos of
the paraphernalia collected from Constanzo's ranch.
There, among the skulls, saints, dolls, and daggers, sits a statue of Santisima
Muerte.(54)
In his book Beliefs anal Holy
Places, Jim Griffith notes the presence of Santisima Muerte and other domination
prayers in Sonora: "Suspecting
that these printed cards might relate to another recent arrival on the
border--the drug trade--I sent copies of them to Arturo Carrillo Strong." Strong
contacted one of his connections in the drug trade, who recognized the prayers
and confirmed that "men involved in the drug trade know better than to ask God,
the Virgin, and the saints for help.... They turn, rather, to the devil, who looks more favorably on that sort of activity."(55)
So we see that Santisima Muerte is
a multifaceted image, an image that changes to meet the nee& of whomever is
using it at the time. Interestingly, some vendors in the Mercado Sonora have
recently initiated Santisima Muerte into Santeria, the Afro-Cuban religion
making strong inroads in
Mexico and the
United Stares. Followers of this religion commonly identify certain Catholic
saints with the orisha, deities of the Santeria pantheon, and several of the
Mercado Sonora vendors who sell the paraphernalia of Santeria rituals told me
they identify Santisima Muerte with Oya, the orisha
who is "duena de la puerta
del cementerio y diosa de las tempestades.... Ademas es la que domina a los muertos."(56)
Followers of a Mexican
spiritualist religion known as Espiritualismo Trinitario Mariano have also incorporated Santisima
Muerte--the white form--into their pantheon, as La Hermana Blanca. Silvia Ortiz Echaniz participated in a pilgrimage to one of this church's
sacred sites near Mexico City, where
the mediums of the church channeled various healing spirits. Santisima Muerte
made her appearance to complain about the blasphemies she has been subjected to,
and to express her plan to reclaim her God-given role as the purveyor of
ultimate justice to all.(57)
As mentioned previously, the image
of Santisima Muerte has also become attached to the cult of Santa Muerte in
Santa Ana, Michoacan. In this case, one suspects that the priest, who
has already made accommodations for the worship of Santa Muerte, is less than
pleased to see the image of Santisima Muerte--so long considered an icon of
black magic--dangling from the statue in the church.
In sum, I believe I have witnessed
growth and change in the devotionto Santisima Muerte,
a devotion whose epicenter is Mexico
City but whose influence reaches north to the border of
the United
States and across that border via emigration
and commerce. This kind of movement takes time, and changes in the center--such
as the recent invention of the kinder, gentler Hermana
Blanca--are not immediately apparent in the outlying areas. Certainly, I have
seen nothing like the Hermana Blanca in
Nogales, where Santisima Muerte is
still a rather dark, intimidating figure of love magic and domination.
As we have seen, though, Santisima
Muerte is a flexible image. Invoked by abandoned wives, she brings ancient
Mediterranean love magic into modern times. Invoked by criminals, she offers
protection and power over one's enemies. Invoked by merchants, she brings
monetary success. Invoked by battered wives, she pacifies angry husbands.
Invoked by mothers of sons gone away, she brings them home. Invoked by Mexican
followers of Santeria, she merges with the Afro-Cuban goddess Oya. Invoked by Catholics as La Hermana Blanca, she offers church-sanctioned (at least in
some instances) luck and protection.
And now, as she establishes her
unearthly presence in the United
States, where the recently-immigrated or the
simply curious can lift her from the supermarket shelf and experiment with her
power, what will her role be?
Only time will tell.
NOTES
(1.) Unless otherwise noted, all
conversations occurred in Spanish. All translations of conversations and written
texts are my own.
(2.) "Fulano" and "fulano de tal," the cquivalent of "so-and-so," or "fill in the blank," appear
frequently in Mexican oraciones. "Fulana" is the female version.
(3.) Oracion de la
Sra. Muerte, no date. The complete text of the Oracion de la Sta. Muerte, along with translations, is
included as an appendix.
(4.) The prayer on the back of the
candle is the usual one, but the image is slightly different. Instead of a globe
and scale, the robed skeleton carries a skull in her left hand and holds her
right hand up, palm forward, in an enigmatic gesture. A similar image appears on
the container of Santisima Muerte spiritual incense produced by the Indio Poderoso Company of
Chicago. Where did this different
U.S. version
come from?
(5.) Quezada (1975) describes the
magical use of the hummingbird (chuparrosa) in love
magic by the Aztecs, a practice readily absorbed into colonial life and still
very much alive today. The Oracion de la Chuparrosa is one of the more common printed oraciones, a lovely combination of Aztec and Spanish magical
practices.
(6.) Pollak-Eltz 1982: 192.
(7.) Ocampo Lopez 1989: 247. Translation: "The number of oraciones and spells in the cities and countryside is nearly
inexhaustible. Single-sheet oraciones are sold in the
marketplaces, at very elevated prices, and it is believed that whoever owns an
oracion should guard it carefully, since they have a
great treasure in their possession."
(8.) See Frisancho Pineda (1986) for examples in
Peru and Coluccio (1986) for
Argentina. See
also Taussig (1997) for interesting examples from
Venezuela.
(9.) Aguirre Beltran 1958: 200.
(10.) Quezada 1989: 101.
(11.) Ceballos Gomez 1994: 74.
(12.) Greenleaf
1962:112.
(13.) Greenleaf 1962:
118.
(14.) Cirac Estonapan 1942: 33-34.
Translation: "Throughout this manuscript, as in the other works of this type,
romance and Latin languages are mixed, as are letters and symbols, the impure
with the holy, and base paganism with Judaism and Christianity."
(15.) Ocampo Lopez
(1989: 248) states that "Las
fuentes originarias de las oraciones son antiguos libros de magia que circularon
profusamente en Europa hasta mediados del siglo XIX y que hoy son editados
popularmente en casi todos los paises americanos."
Translation: "The original sources of these prayers are ancient books of
magic which circulated widely in Europe until the
mid-nineteenth century, and which are published today for a popular audience in
most American countries."
See also Taussig (1987) for a discussion of the role of these magic
books in colonial
Colombia. The
photo of a Putumayo herbalist's
stall on p. 271, remarkably similar to a typical Mexican herbalist's stall,
shows several of these magic books for sale, including the Libro de San
Cipriano.
(16.) Englebert 1994:
366.
(17.) Flint 1991:
233-34.
(18.) Engelbert 1994:
366.
(19.) Libro de San Cipriano, tesoro del
hechicero, n.d.: pp. 8-9.
(20.) Meyer and Smith 1994: 148.
(21.) Sanchez Ortega 1991: 61.
(22.) Sanchez Ortega 1991: 61.
(23.) Cirac Estonapan 1942: 133.
(24.) Oracion del Anima Sola spell card, n.d. Translation:
"Anima Sola ... by the entrails of the Virgin Mary, I
ask that you insert me into the heart of (fill in the blank), and bring him to
my feet, meek and humble.... If he's in the home of another, let my voice reach
his ears and disturb him, let him have no peace or tranquility."
(25.) Sanchez Ortega 1991: 74.
(26.) Pollak-Eltz 1972:113-14. Translation: "rend the heart of
Fulano, and give him no peace, neither to eat nor
drink nor sleep with a woman ... until he comes to me, meek and humble, to my
feet." This prayer is another nice example of the melding of native practices
(divination with tobacco) with imported ones.
(27.) Frisancho Pineda 1986: 36.
(28.) Ocampo Lopez 1989:215. "Married women suffering from the
partial or total absence of their husband pray to her with vehemence."
(29.) Rodriguez Marin 1927.
(30.) Quezada 1974.
(31.) Paris 1988: 65-71.
(32.) Paris 1988: 67.
(33.) Coluccio 1983: 391.
(34.) Coluccio 1983: 395.
(35.)
Mendoza 194: 91. Translation: "the
persistence and abundance of figures related to death in the Nahua, Mixtec, and Maya codices,
the ideograms formed of skulls, ribs, and bones, lead us to the conclusion that
the pre-Hispanic indigenous cult to the Lord of the Dead must have been quite
extensive."
(36.) Adela Fernandez (1983: 109) conflates Coatlicue with "Tonatzin (our
venerated mother)" who later, of course, transmogrified into the Virgin of
Guadalupe, whom I choose to view as Santisima Muerte's
nicer, fleshier sister goddess.
(37.) Navarrete 1982: pull-out timeline.
(38.) Schurz 1964: 83.
(39.) Octavio Paz in Navarrete 1982:11.
Translation: "For the inhabitant of New
York, Paris,
or London, `death' is the word never
spoken because it burns the lips. The Mexican, in contrast, spends time with it,
makes fun of it, caresses it, sleeps with it, throws parties for it; it is one
of his favorite toys and his most abiding love."
(40.) Navarrete 1982.
(41.) Gruzinski 1995: 192. Translation: "Let us go to the
steppe-like plains of the North, to San Luis de la Paz, in 1797. The silence of
night reigns once again. Thirty Indians are enclosed in their chapel, drinking
peyote, lighting candles backwards, making little dolls dance ..., they strike
at crucifixes with wax candles; they tie up a figure of Santa Muerte with wet
cord and threaten it with lashings if it doesn't 'perform the miracle' of
granting them what they demand."
(42.) Reyes 1989: 22-23.
Translation: "It was in the eighteenth century that the attempt was made to make
[death] less terrifying, to give it the appearance of kindness, to be seen
without fear but with faith, an example of this effort being the prayer
dedicated to Santa Muerte."
(43.) Mundo Esoterico 1997 (10): 5.
Translation: "Thus began the cult to this image, which has captivated thousands
of people."
(44.) Toor 1947: 144.
(45.) Aguirre Beltran 1958: 233.
Translation: "Most of them are printed on yellow, red, and green cardstock. They
carry the image of a saint on one side and a prayer on the other."
(46.) Kelly 1965: 107; Navarrete 1968: 52; Olavarrieta
197: 116.
(47.) Bernal 1982: 25.
Translation: "The experts in the knowledge of the supernatural have considered
this type of magic illicit, since one can cause terrible harm to third
parties.... Whoever makes a promise to Death must not fail to keep it, for to do
so is to risk life itself."
(48.) Bernal 1982: 27.
Translation: "Most Holy Death, torture him. Most Holy Death, make him desperate.
Most Holy Death, fill him with anguish. Most Holy Death, mortify him ... Fulano, tortured you are.... Fulano, desperate you are."
(49.) See Quezada (1975) for
examples of pre-Hispanic love magic.
(50.) Escobedo Cordero 1994: 166.
Translation: "Oh, Most Holy Death, you who in silence bear the shame of seeing
your Most Sacred and Celestial name stained, which the enemies of God use toward
malevolent and harmful ends, please use your Celestial Power to help all of the
women who have had the misfortune of falling into the claws of these enemies of
God."
(51.) Sanchez Loeza 1994: 136. Translation: "We have Santisima Muerte, who
is much adored in businesses and houses. She is adored because she serves as a
protection, so we are protected from envy, evil, and the bad will that surroundsus.
"We call her the 'White Sister,'
we don't regard her with fear but with adoration, because she has performed many
miracles, above all when we want an absent person to return, for example, a son.
We have sons who go to earn a penny outside of Mexico
City, who go as laborers to the
United States.
We sec this problem almost daily. If it's not the son
who's gone, it's the wife, or a daughter or sister, whatever. To make them
return, we use prayers to invoke the spirit of Santisima Muerte and the spirit
of fulano de tal, the one who left, and then they return."
(52.) De la Cruz n.d.: 67. Translation: "Candle of Holy Death: Please
never use this candle, as only bad results will occur in your life, and you will
incur karma that will be very difficult to erase in this lifetime."
(53.) Sepulveda 1983: 178.
Translation: "Many of these prayers are considered `bad' because they invoke the
devil and the infernal spirits; before using them, the user must be `prepared,'
physically and spiritually; that is, she should maintain sexual abstinence and
be ready to deliver her soul to the invoked spirits, in exchange for the favor
requested."
(54.) Humes 1991: plates.
(55.)
Griffith 1992: 65.
(56.) Editorial Panapo 1990: 60. Translation: "guardian of the door to the
cemetery and the goddess of storms.... Also she who dominates
the dead."
(57.) Ortiz Echaniz, Silvia, in Navarro and Storm 1994: 222-23.
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Aguirre
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Mexico: Academia de
Investigacion Cientifica. Bernal
S., Maria de la Luz 1982 Mitos y magos
mexicanos. Mexico: Grupo Editorial Gaceta. Biblioteca Ciencias Ocultas n.d. Libro de San
Cipriano: tesoro del hechicero. Mexico: Biblioteca de
Ciencias Ocultas. Ceballos Gomez, Diana Luz 1994 Hechiceria,
brujeria e Inquisicion en el Nuevo Reino de Granada. Medellin:
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APPENDIX:
ORACION DE LA
STA. MUERTE Text of the prayer, as it commonly appears in the printed oracion:
Jesucristo vencedor, queen la Cruz fuiste vencido, vence a "fulano de tal," que
este vencido conmigo en nombre del Senor si eres
animal feroz manso como un cordero, manso como la flor de romero; tienes que
venir; pan comiste, de el me diste y por la palara
[sic] mas fuerte que me diste, quiero que me traigas a "fulano de tal," que este
humillado, rendido a mis plantas a cumplir lo que me ha ofrecido. Santisima
Muerte, yo te suplico encarecidamente que asi como te
formo Dios inmortal con tu grande poder sobre todos los mortales hasta ponerlos
en la esfera celeste donde gozaremos un glorioso dia
sin noche para toda la eternidad yen el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espiritu Santo yo te ruego y te suplico tc dignes ser mi protectora y me concedas todos los favores
que yo te pido hasta el ultimo dia, hora y momento en
que su Divina Majestad ordene llevarme ante su presencia, Amen.
JACULATORIA:
Muerte querida de mi corazon no me desampares con tu proteccion y no me dejes a "Fulano de Tal" un solo momento
tranquilo; molestalo a cada momento, mortificalo inquietalo para que
siempre piense en mi.
Se rezan tres Padres Nuestros.
My rough translation, following
the original punctuation, is as follows:
Jesus Christ the Conqueror, who on
the cross was conquered, conquer Fulano so that he may
be conquered here with me in the name of the Lord if you are a ferocious animal
meek as a lamb, meek as the flower of the rosemary; you have to come; bread you
ate and of it you gave to me, and by the strongest word which you gave to me, I
want you to bring me Fulano; may he be humiliated,
subdued at my feet to complete what he has promised me. Most Holy Death, I
beseech you affectionately that as Immortal God formed you with your great power
over all mortals even placing them in the celestial sphere where we enjoy a
glorious day without night for all of eternity and in the name of the Father,
the Son and the Holy Ghost I beg and plead for you to deign to be my protector
and grant me the wishes I ask up to the last day, hour and moment in which your
Divine Majesty orders me brought before your presence, Amen.
JACULATORIA (Short fervent prayer)
Death beloved of my heart don't
leave me without your protection and don't give Fulano
a single tranquil moment; disturb him at every moment, mortify and torment him
so he always thinks of me.
Pray three Our Fathers.
The container of Holy Death
Spiritual Incense that I bought in
Tucson, made by the Indio Poderoso firm of
Chicago, translates the prayer as
follows:
PRAYER TO THE HOLY DEATH
Oh! Conquering Jesus Christ, that in the cross were defeated, like you would tame a
ferocious animal, tame the soul of (name). Tame as a lamb and tame as a rosemary
flower he shall come to kneel before me and obey my every command. Holy Death, I
plea of your immortal powers that God has given you towards mortals, place us in
a celestial sphere where we'll enjoy days without nights for all eternity. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, I plea for
your protection. Grant all our wishes until the last day, hour and moment
that your Divine Majesty orders us to appear before You. Amen.
JOHN THOMPSON lives and works in
Tucson,
Arizona. He dedicates this essay to Dr. Noemi Quezada. Thompson's article "Santo Nino de Atocha" was published in the Spring
1994 issue of Journal of the Southwest.
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Questia Media America, Inc. www.questia.com
Publication Information: Article
Title: Santisima Muerte: On the Origin and Development of a Mexican Occult
Image. Contributors: John Thompson - author. Journal Title: Journal of the
Southwest. Volume: 40. Issue: 4. Publication Year: 1998. Page Number: 405.
COPYRIGHT 1998 University of
Arizona; COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale
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