On Rites: My Brother’s Marriage in Mexico

Recently in mid-July, I attended my brother’s marriage in what seemingly looked like the 52^nd state of the United States of America in the Riviera Maya. Rest at peace though, I will not launch into a tirade of invective on the geographical location. Tourism, forms part of the revenue triumvirate that at senior banker pointed out to me make up for the large majority of Mexico’s GDP: tourism, oil and poor people – through illegal immigration’s receipts from above. The last one has been my concern for life as well as the land and the beings that live in it. But I digress.

I attended my middle brother’s wedding, 

Svetlana (Ukraine).....

marrying Oliver (Mexico).....

I will begin by the significance. I am not sure where I read the passage (was thinking Malcom Gladwell, Nassib Taleb or even Mlodinow's The Drunkard's Walk, my memory has been unable to pinpoint author), about the significance of events. Events become significant when they happen close to some type of circle of influence of the individual (seems intuitive enough).  

Millions of people die everyday, marry, have children, are involved in unspeakable atrocities and yet very few sympathize, note or are more than casually affected. Yet, when one single event occurs within this circle, in this case, my brother, the event becomes relevant. The point parallels Margaret Meade’s experience (MM the famous American anthropologist whom now has become my preferred citation reference in all terms family) of having a child as a grown woman.  After having studied the same mother-child relationship in tens of cultures in Polynesia and Southeast Asia, having her own child lent a new light like no other; she was affected.

And so it affected me. I noticed the groom and the bride. The smiles of the familial faces (curious of the familiarity of them despite having been separated by more than 20 years in some cases). The joy, the tears shedded, some tension on a small logistical detail that had paramount importance in the ceremony, the rite.

I could scarcely contain my surprise that night in the hotel room to my ignorance of the rite in most previous occasions. Had it been because I always sat in the back of the temple that I had missed the event (potentially.. I discovered a similar dissonance upon my studies when in college – sitting in front made all the difference!)? Why had I not remarked as carefully before? (please note that this is not to take away from previous rites that I had attended – I have enjoyed all of them thoroughly and am much grateful to every host that has invited me, including the one this weekend in Sweden. Thank you JingXia and Niklas).

Regardless, the rite in this one occasion, left a rather strong print. Extricating the occasion from religion (Catholic in this case), the communion of two people within a temple, with friends and family coming together seemed relevant. The vows regarding partnership, future, even past (as the event seals a certain decision of the parts in their past), seemed completely apropos for a sealing of a union.  Questions arose from this: Did all the parties interiorize the momentousness? Did they bless and pray for the two parties in communion with them?  (talking to a friend from Burma this past week in NYC, I  was introduced into a new word – wedditation; can imagine the level of communion then when guests meditate and wed!)

I thought of the film Baraka and in particular the scene in the temple where the priest is leading a legion of other believers in ceremony (click here to watch). I thought of even Avatar, when one of the human avatars die and the community comes along with the priestess to revive it. Rites.

How beautifully they could be used as a vehicle of togetherness with one another, in communion with life. I thought back of the indigenous societies that seem to observe them more than we do. Thought of Ilha de Moçambique and its drumming fishermen (not trying to be sexist, they are only men), of Holi – the festival of colour - in India and my favourite one celebrating Ganesh (the elephant god as my Father constantly refers to It). Thought of the magic of seeing the Ghost Festival in Hong Kong on my first arrival in the city, of the broken saints, surrounded by candles and guillotined chickens in the churches of San Juan Chamula in Chiapas, or the temple monks of Tokyo silently rushing amongst bystanders from edifice to edifice – one of my favourite spectacles. Or even natural rites – my preferred, (that even has its own word - Hanami), cherry blossom observation, or the migration of Gnus and others across Massai Mara and into Serengetti.

Had purchased a small travelling shrine at the Asian Armory show a few years back in NYC. Have it along with other small sculptures collected over the years in my bedside. Returning from Mexico, have begun a daily meditation to give thanks for the day. To further accentuate, in a small shop in Kyoto this year purchased a small empty shrine (the one above has a terrifying multi-limb Hindu idol within – don’t think tis Shiva) to begin these daily rituals as soon as I get back to Brazil and get it out of storage.

But why? Why a ritual? To act as a reminder. Each one has goals, memories. In the flow of everyday life, modern life, where a blackberry or an iphone calendar can be the only way to keep track of time and duty – and even then, mostly functional / practical. In this world, even more, we need to go out of our way to remember. Rites.

But what? Remember what? Remember that life begins daily as the sun comes up the horizon. Remember that despite our issues and problems, we are more than administrative machines. That the food we eat, if animal, at some point had a life. Or even vegetable, the sun kissed it, water nourished it and now tis part of us.

Rites to know that we are more than us.

Life influences us, we influence life. Holistically and collectively, problems in the world need to be solved. Preserving forest, the destruction of original cultures and languages, thinking of issues larger than us. Just like the alarm clock every morning reminds us to wake up and go. So does a ritual remind us to slow down and think. Rites.

Chanting Ohm, like scraping paint or any other repetitive task (don’t mean to offend here with this direct comparison, just comparing the repetition), can gain significance with consistency.

That consistency then translates into rite. Rite allows us to pair down our activity and think and do more than beyond us.

I wish my brother and Lana a wonderful life together, not only happy, but full of adventure across the myriad of colours in the rainbow... enjoying it wherever that may lead.