By Luciano Martucci, independent anthropologist*
A friend of mine, whom I’ve known for ten years and with whom I’ve shared many experiences in social circles, ceremonies, rituals, and other things related to different cultures and histories, has always shown little interest in my studies. She often told me that skeletal figures made her uneasy, but she never really delved into the subject. So I limited the information I gave her, limiting myself to answering her questions. I’m not the type of person who claims that my beliefs or way of believing are the ultimate truth; on the contrary, I respect and take interest in those of others.
She had never seen my altar or the objects I keep at home. When she finally had the chance to, she said she found them disturbing, making a grimace and commenting with an expression of disapproval: “What on earth do you have in your house?” She added that if she had known, she never would have come to visit. She also asked me to close the door so that, as she walked through the rooms, she wouldn’t have to see my skeletal images.
A few days later, she messaged me, asking why I had statues of Jesus, crucifixes, Catholic and folk saints, and other deities in my home. She claimed that, in the end, we are beings who carry the spark of life within us and are sacred by ourselves; we don’t need to pray to anyone. In fact, those voices, visions, and feelings that we perceive are not sacred or beneficial at all; they are merely entities, forces, and spirits that, in some cases, may do us good, but in the long run, they feed off us, draining our energy until they lead us to death. If we ever perceive them, we should repel or dissolve them.
I replied that everyone has their own practices and experiences and is free to do as they please, as long as they don’t harm others. A few days later, she contacted me, saying she had twice dreamt of skeletal images and that I didn’t realize that those figures I believe in, or study, were not helping me but rather destroying me.
She then told me never to contact her again. Days later, while tidying up my room, I found one of her rings between the couch cushions. After those messages, I thought it was better not to contact her. But I wondered what to do with the ring—it didn’t feel right to keep it, give it to someone else, or throw it away. In the end, I placed it on the scythe of a Black Santa Muerte, asking her to take care of it.
Three days later, I received a call from my friend’s son, who told me that, a couple of days earlier, his mother had entered a state of total delirium. The neighbors and the police had to intervene, the family was called, and they had to hospitalize her. She remains in the hospital now.
*Luciano Martucci, is a freelance anthropologist who focuses on shamanism, traditional medicine, and the religious diversity of Latin America. He has written several articles and published “Il Gauchito Gil, da bandito a santo”, “Il culto a San La MUerte” and “ Yo soy del San, el culto a San La Muerte.”
Most Holy Death 