Ever wondered how different cultures deal with death and mourning? How is the vibrant spectacle of Días de los Muertos in Mexico City connected to the personal journey of Sarah Chavez, a grieving mother? What can we learn from the ancient practice of open-air pyre cremation in Crestone, Colorado? How do the unique death rituals in Tana Toraja, Indonesia blur the lines between life and death? And what do human skulls, or ñatitas, mean to the people of La Paz in Bolivia? Dive into this captivating narrative that takes you on an enlightening journey through diverse death rituals around the world.

From Here to Eternity: Traveling the World to Find the Good Death

Caitlin's introduction to the funeral home business began with a phone call where a hospice nurse informed her of a recent death. The deceased's daughter wished to keep her mother's body at home—a decision Caitlin fully supported. She believed in empowering grieving families to choose how they handled their loved one's body, challenging the norms of the funeral industry.

Her perspective was shaped by experiences abroad, particularly in Belize, where a local named Luciano had shared insights into his community's approach to death—a stark contrast to Western practices. There, death was embraced, with families personally caring for their departed and keeping them close. In contrast, Caitlin noted how the Western funeral industry had commercialized death, creating a distance that bred discomfort and avoidance.

Having traveled extensively and studied death rituals from diverse cultures, Caitlin recognized the subjectivity of death practices, influenced by cultural biases. She advocated for approaching death with openness and curiosity, rather than fear or aversion.

Reflecting on the corporatization of deathcare in the West, Caitlin argued for reforms that prioritize familial involvement over profit. She urged a shift toward more inclusive and meaningful funeral practices, emphasizing the need for society to engage openly with death without assuming the superiority of Western rituals.

Through her narrative, Caitlin hoped to inspire appreciation for the global diversity of death rituals and provoke introspection about individual attitudes toward death and mourning. She believed that embracing and engaging with death could restore its significance in contemporary life.

Could Embracing Death Like Other Cultures Transform the American Funeral Industry?

In the small town of Crestone, Colorado, the ancient practice of open-air pyre cremation is alive and well. The Crestone End of Life Project, a local nonprofit, has reinstated the tradition, offering a unique end-of-life option for the town's residents that's both environmentally friendly and community-centered.

The story begins with the unexpected death of Laura, a beloved member of the Crestone community. After a night of dancing at a local music festival, Laura was found dead on her kitchen floor due to heart complications. Her death was a shock to the community but it also provided an opportunity for the community to come together and grieve collectively, as they prepared for her open-air cremation.

The ceremony, held at dawn, was a deeply moving experience. Laura's body, wrapped in a coral-colored shroud, was carried through a field of black-eyed susan flowers and laid on a metal grate atop two parallel slabs of smooth white concrete. Friends and family members stepped forward to lay juniper boughs on Laura's body, a symbol of honor and respect. As the sun rose, her body was set aflame, transforming her physical form into white smoke that swirled upwards and disappeared into the morning sky. 

Open-air cremation is an ancient practice, with the oldest known evidence dating back 42,000 years to the Aboriginal people of Australia. Despite its ancient roots, the practice is not common in the Western world due to various legal, environmental and social reasons. 

However, the Crestone End of Life Project has managed to overcome these challenges, creating a community-centered, environmentally conscious cremation option that resonates with many. The organization offers the service for a nominal fee and even waives that fee for those who cannot afford it. 

The Crestone model has also received attention from reformers in India, who are interested in adapting their practices to be less damaging to the environment. It also challenges the conventional, profit-driven funeral industry, offering a low-cost, community-centered alternative. 

Through the Crestone End of Life Project, the town of Crestone provides a poignant example of how death can bring a community together. The ancient ritual of open-air cremation becomes a celebration of life, a public act of communal grieving, and a moment of shared healing. The story of Laura's cremation and the work of the Crestone End of Life Project show us that death, like life, can be a shared, communal experience - a final act of community, of humanity, of love.

Ancient Flames, Modern Love: The Revival of Open-Air Pyre Cremation in Crestone, Colorado

In the remote Indonesian region of Tana Toraja, the line between life and death is blurred in a way that Westerners might find hard to comprehend. This unique culture holds a deep reverence for the dead, caring for them in ways that go beyond our traditional notions of mourning and remembrance. 

On the author's journey to Toraja, she was accompanied by Dr. Paul Koudounaris, a scholar of the macabre with a penchant for offbeat adventures. Their goal was to witness the ma’nene’, a ritual where the Torajans exhume, clean, and redress their deceased loved ones.

Their journey was arduous, involving multiple flights and a grueling drive through the beautiful but challenging terrain of South Sulawesi. Their destination was a village filled with house-graves, where generations of families were interred together.

The people of Toraja have a unique relationship with death. Instead of being hidden away, the deceased continue to be part of their families' lives. They are kept at home for months, sometimes years, after death, and cared for as if they are merely ill. This period lasts until the first animal is sacrificed at the funeral, marking the moment when the deceased can finally die.

The funeral was a grand event, a blend of traditional Torajan culture and modern influences. The deceased was carried around in a replica of a traditional Torajan house, while a buffalo destined for sacrifice watched solemnly from the center of the courtyard. 

The next day, they witnessed the ma’nene’. The inhabitants of the house-graves were carefully unwrapped, cleaned, and redressed. The scene was a poignant mix of reverence, love, and acceptance of death's inevitability. The Torajans spoke directly to their deceased, narrating their actions, and treating them with the same respect and care as they would the living.

Despite the solemnity of the occasion, there were moments of levity. Children ran around playfully, and even the task of cleaning the corpses was carried out with a sense of humor. This was a community unafraid of death, seeing it not as an end, but as a continuation of relationships and responsibilities.

The Torajans' approach to death and mourning is a stark contrast to Western norms. Where we might see morbidity, they see a natural part of life. This unique perspective on death is a testament to the power of cultural norms and beliefs, and a reminder that our relationship with the dead can be more than just mourning their loss.

Does Death Really Mean the End for the People of Tana Toraja?

In the bustling streets of Mexico City, skeletons dance and Aztec warriors twirl on rollerblades during the annual Días de los Muertos, or Days of the Dead, parade. This vibrant spectacle marks the two-day celebration when the dead are said to return to enjoy the pleasures of the living. 

Sarah Chavez, the director of The Order of the Good Death, walks through the glitter-strewn streets, admiring the Días de los Muertos decorations adorning homes and businesses. As a Mexican-American, Sarah has a deeply personal connection to this celebration of life and death. Her journey to understand the traditions of her heritage was born from a tragic loss - the death of her unborn child.

In 2013, Sarah discovered her baby had trisomy 13, a rare chromosomal condition leading to severe physical and intellectual abnormalities. After a traumatic abortion process marked by harsh protesters calling her a murderer, Sarah was left isolated in her grief.

Seeking solace, she turned to her Mexican roots, specifically, to Días de los Muertos. During the festival, Sarah found a community that recognized her pain and allowed her to express her grief openly. The public images of skulls and elaborate altars for the dead provided both confrontation and peace that she hadn’t found back home in California.

Sarah's grief journey led her to the works of celebrated Mexican painter Frida Kahlo, who also grappled with impossible choices for her child and her own body. Kahlo’s unflinching portrayal of pain and death through her art spoke deeply to Sarah, revealing another Mexican woman forced to reckon with the mortality of her child.

In the local cemetery during Días de los Muertos, Sarah observed the vibrant memorials for children who had passed away, known as Angelitos or Little Angels. To see these children celebrated so openly, evoking pride rather than shame, deeply moved Sarah. She realized that Días de los Muertos offered a space for parents to express pride for their deceased children, a chance cruelly taken away from many grieving parents like herself in the Western world.

From her own painful experiences and her immersion in Mexican traditions of death, Sarah learned the power of engaging with death openly and honestly. She saw how cultures like Mexico, that acknowledge and celebrate death, can offer healing, particularly for those grappling with grief. For Sarah, Días de los Muertos wasn't just a festival; it was a lifeline, a way to remember her child and confront her grief head-on.

Dancing with Death: A Grieving Mother's Journey through Mexico's Días de los Muertos

The magnificent grey whales, after their death, become a grand banquet in the deep sea, creating a whole ecosystem around their carcasses. This is known as a 'whale fall'. 

First, the mobile scavengers like sharks, hagfish, crabs, and ratfish start feasting on the decomposed flesh. Then, mollusks and crustaceans set up camp, and thousands of deep-sea worms grow on the whale's bones. These worms, called Osedax or 'bone devourers', burrow into the bones and extract oils and fats from within them. This process lasts for decades, turning the whale into a postmortem benefactor, donating its body so that others may thrive. 

On similar lines, there is a concept of 'recomposition' or 'human composting' for human beings. Katrina Spade, an architect, came up with this idea while designing a 'resting place for the urban dead'. She envisioned a world where the dead could be composted and turned into nutrient-rich soil, allowing them to give back to the Earth even in death. This process involves placing the dead body into a carbon-rich mixture that reduces it to soil in four to six weeks. This soil can then be used to nourish plants and gardens. 

The process of recomposition is currently being tested at the Forensic Osteology Research Station (FOREST) at Western Carolina University. This facility, run by Dr. Cheryl Johnston, is where donated bodies are laid out to decompose for forensic study and law enforcement training. Here, experiments are being conducted to compost human bodies, with the hope of turning them into nutrient-rich soil. 

However, the concept of human composting is still in its early stages, and a lot more research and experimentation is needed before it can be adopted on a large scale. Despite the challenges, the people working on this project, mostly women, are dedicated to changing the current system of death and giving people a more eco-friendly alternative. 

This method of dealing with death is not only environmentally friendly but also allows people to accept the natural decomposition process and embrace the cycle of life and death. It is a way of reclaiming our bodies from the commercial funeral industry and giving them back to nature.

Could Human Bodies Nurture the Earth After Death: The Revolutionary Concept of 'Human Composting'?

In the heart of Barcelona, the Altima funeral home is a blend of sleek, minimalist modernity and old-world ceremony. This three-story facility, with its elegant white stone interior and sweeping city views, stands in stark contrast to the uniform aesthetic of American funeral homes. At Altima, 63 well-groomed employees expertly handle the logistics of death, from body preparation to funeral services, serving almost a quarter of the city's deceased. 

Despite Spain's Catholic roots and a national cremation rate of only 35%, urban Barcelona leans towards cremation with a rate of 45%. Altima's approach to death is symbolized by the extensive use of glass in their facilities. It provides a clear view of death's reality while maintaining a physical barrier. 

Families can spend an entire day with their deceased loved ones, albeit behind glass. Altima offers both Spanish-style viewing, where the body is displayed in a coffin behind a large glass pane, and Catalan-style, where the open coffin is placed within a glass display case. 

The funeral home's open approach to death extends to their willingness to explore alternative methods. Despite the author's critical views on modern funeral practices, Altima welcomed her visit demonstrating a flexibility unseen in American funeral corporations. 

Altima also operates the award-winning Cementiri Parc Roques Blanques cemetery, known for its green initiatives. This cemetery is home to wildlife, electric vehicles, and the option to plant a family tree with ashes from up to five family members. Despite their almost-green practices, burials still require wooden coffins placed in granite crypts, and cremations are observed from behind glass barriers. 

While Altima's practices might seem contradictory, the funeral home provides a space for people to acknowledge death, with a significant number of families attending witness cremations. The glass barriers, serving as training wheels, allow people to come close to death without too close. And in Barcelona, people show up for death, paying their dues in a place that gracefully balances the confrontation of mortality with the preservation of dignity.

Altima Funeral Home: A Modern Approach to Death and Dignity in Barcelona

The Japanese morning television show, Tokudane, showcased a segment that featured a white-robed monk praying in a temple at a funeral for nineteen robotic dogs - Aibo. Aibo, meaning "companion" in Japanese, was an electronic pet dog released by Sony in 1999. Despite its discontinuation in 2006 and the halt of repairs in 2014, Aibo had garnered a strong following, with owners even holding funerals for the robots.

In Tokyo, the statue of Hachikō, a dog known for its loyalty, stands as a symbol of respect. Despite Japan's technological advancements, their reverence for life, even in its robotic form, is evident. Japan also has a high suicide rate, viewed as an honorable act in their culture, in contrast to the Western perception of it being sinful. 

In the midst of the bustling city, the KOUKOKUJI BUDDHIST TEMPLE stands. Here, Yajima jūshoku, the head priest, has embraced technology to memorialize cremated remains. Japan has the highest cremation rate in the world, with even the emperor and empress choosing cremation, breaking centuries-old traditions. At the temple, Yajima has built the Ruriden columbarium, where thousands of glowing Buddhas represent the stored remains. 

As Japan's aging population grows, the need for end-of-life services increases. Companies cater to this demand, offering products and services like designer shrouds and end-of-life portraits. Facilities like Lastel, a hotel for corpses, and Daitokuin Ryōgoku Ryoen, a multi-story temple and graveyard, provide innovative solutions for storing and honoring the dead. 

Despite the technological advancements, the Japanese retain a deep respect and reverence for life and death. They have integrated technology into their funeral practices, providing both traditional and modern options to honor the deceased.

Is Japan Redefining the Concept of Life, Death, and Mourning Through Technology?

In La Paz, Bolivia, Paul Koudounaris is a well-known figure. With his unique attire, including a coyote pelt hat and gold beads, he's hard to miss. But beyond his eccentric fashion choices, Paul is renowned for his connection with Doña Ely, a local woman who keeps a collection of sixty-seven human skulls, known as ñatitas, in her home. 

Doña Ely and Paul share a unique bond, both fascinated by skulls and fond of dressing up their pets. For over a decade, Paul has been visiting La Paz to photograph these ñatitas, each one with a distinct personality and gift. The skulls, once human, are believed to possess special powers that connect the living with the dead. 

Doña Ely's skulls are adorned with cotton beanies and their names embroidered on the front. Each ñatita, found in various places including cemeteries and archaeological sites, has a distinct personality and gift. For instance, Carlitos assists with medical issues, while Cecilia helps university students. 

The ñatitas are treated with reverence, with devotees making offerings ranging from flowers to watermelons. Doña Ely herself can attest to their miraculous power, having been helped by her first ñatita, Oscar, when she was in financial distress. 

Interestingly, the Roman Catholic Church isn't fond of the practice, viewing it as a threat to their authority. Despite this, the practice continues to thrive particularly amongst women, who find empowerment in their direct connection to the divine, unmediated by male intermediaries.

Similar to the ñatitas, European Catholics have used saintly relics and bones as intermediaries, despite the Church's disapproval. The Cult of the Dead in Naples, for instance, involves locals adopting certain skulls, cleaning them, and building shrines. Ironically, the Church has had to bend to the growing popularity of these practices, recognizing the power of faith and the importance of these celebrations.

In Bolivia, the ñatitas are celebrated annually on the Fiesta de las Ñatitas. It's a day where skulls are displayed, esteemed, and thanked for their work throughout the year. Despite the Church's disapproval and the underground nature of the practice, the festival draws a large crowd, demonstrating the power of faith and the profound connection between the living and the dead.


The Power of Skulls: Discovering the Unique Bond, Beliefs, and Revelry of Ñatitas in Bolivia

When Caitlin returned to Los Angeles from her global travels, she brought with her a renewed sense of purpose, sparked by the diverse death rituals she had encountered. Her aim was to integrate these new perspectives into her work at Undertaking LA, especially in handling the natural burial of Mrs. Shepard. 

However, the reality she faced was starkly different from her idealized expectations. Mrs. Shepard's body, decomposed and moldy after six weeks in a plastic bag at the coroner's office, required silent, diligent cleaning before Caitlin and her colleague Amber could prepare her for burial. Amber had sewn a shroud herself from discounted fabric, a humble but heartfelt gesture.

Transporting Mrs. Shepard's shrouded body to Joshua Tree, a natural cemetery distant from Los Angeles but aligned with Mrs. Shepard's lifelong environmental advocacy, Caitlin oversaw a simple ceremony. There, they laid Mrs. Shepard to rest, her grave blending seamlessly into the desert surroundings.

Caitlin's global travels had exposed her to diverse cultural attitudes toward death and corpse disposal. She was particularly moved by the Parsis' towers of silence, where bodies are left for vultures—a practice that honors the environment and the cycle of life, despite challenges posed by declining vulture populations. 

She lamented that such profound death rituals often go unnoticed or unappreciated in Western societies, where death is often feared and concealed. Caitlin advocated for creating supportive environments in hospitals and funeral homes that could compassionately guide grieving families. She believed that by openly observing and participating in death rituals and holding space for grieving, individuals could begin to transform their cultural attitudes toward death. 

Whether through intimate acts like grooming a loved one or witnessing their burial, Caitlin argued that facing death with courage and vulnerability could facilitate healing and acceptance.

Ultimately, Caitlin urged society to confront its fear, shame, and discomfort surrounding death, advocating for a more open and honest approach that acknowledges death as an intrinsic part of life's journey.

Can Global Death Rituals Inspire a More Environmentally-Friendly Approach to Burials in the West?

The traditional approach to death in Western society, particularly in America, is one of distance and avoidance. This perspective, heavily influenced by the corporatization of the funeral industry, contrasts starkly with the intimate and ritualistic practices observed in various cultures worldwide. 

Some cultures engage with death so openly and unflinchingly, embracing the reality of mortality and encouraging family involvement in the preparation of their loved ones' bodies. It is also noteworthy that differing cultural perceptions of death rituals are largely subjective, often revealing more about our own cultural bias than about the practices themselves. 

The diversity of death rituals around the world is striking, yet their common thread is the profound sense of community and shared mourning they engender. From the open-air pyre cremations in Crestone, Colorado, to the deeply reverential practices in Tana Toraja, Indonesia, these rituals offer valuable insights into how we can reform our funeral industry to be less profit-oriented and more inclusive of the family. 

This starts with engaging more openly with death and challenging the prejudice that our own death rituals are superior. Moreover, alternative practices such as 'human composting' or 'recomposition' highlight the potential for environmentally-friendly approaches to death care that also honor the cycle of life and death. 

Ultimately, the key to transforming our relationship with death lies in acknowledging its inevitability, creating safe spaces for grief, and reclaiming its meaning and importance in our lives. Embracing a more open and curious approach to death, rather than one of revulsion or fear, is an essential first step. 

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