MEET THE DANCERS FOR DAY OF THE DEAD.
HOUSTON DANCERS CONNECT TO THEIR HERITAGE THROUGH DANZA, WHICH ALSO HONORS DÍA DE LOS MUERTOS
Around the time of Halloween and DÍa de los Muertos, the separation between the corporal and spiritual worlds is at its thinnest, so say true believers.
Which is another reminder that, despite store shelves being lined with sugar skulls next to Halloween totems, Día de los Muertos isn’t about collecting candy, it’s about honoring those lost.
“As this time gets more commercialized, we feel it’s real important to keep it rooted in tradition, especially here in the United States,” says Xavier Herrera, a high school teacher and leader of Danza Azteca Taxca Yoloztl, a local dance group that looks to continue a tradition almost as old as Día de los Muertos, which begins on Tuesday.
Cemetery visits and all-night veladas, or vigils, to connect with the spirits of those who have passed on, are all parts of traditional Día de los Muertos celebrations. Then there’s the familiar face painting and that tasty, sugarsprinkled pan de muertos, which is supposed to be a treat for those on both sides of the dead/living divide.
But don’t forget about danza, an ancient dance that goes back centuries to the beat of a drum and indigenous hollers.
The four basic elements are always
present during a danza event — water, air, fire and earth. It’s an ancient ritual that involves incense burning, elaborate head dressing and shells wrapped around the feet.
“Traditionally, its stayed alive since the conquest in families and passed down from parents to kids. Our more modern history is it being passed down in the community. It’s kind of like martial arts, in a way. You find a teacher,” Herrera says.
Danza is not a martial art, but it was military training during pre-Columbian times.
Herrera is the first palabra, the leader of his danza group, which will perform this weekend at the Día de los Muertos Festival at MECA Houston. He teaches the dances and some of the history and meaning behind the dance.
“For me, personally, it was a way to reconnect with my indigenous roots. Growing up, I called myself Hispanic, as a Tejano, I was second-generation, American born,” he says during a break at his teaching job. “With the secondgenerations, we were taught more to assimilate in the American society, and learn English and not really learn Spanish. That was done in order to succeed in school.”
Herrera, a Corpus Christi native, moved to Houston in 2002. He’s been practicing danza for about 15 years.
“Looking at myself in the mirror, I knew that I wasn’t European or Spanish. I knew I had a certain look, and learning more about Mexican and Mexican-American there was that native root in there that I had no knowledge of. None of that culture,” he says. “It was a way for me to reconnect with that side of my culture that was lost in my family.”
That connection with the spiritual dance went beyond an esoteric relationship with Aztec ancestors, it meant learning about history and cultural importance, and Herrera was able to strengthen bonds with his immediate family.
Danza is a practice that’s easily found throughout the Southwest, Mexico and anywhere in the U.S. where large populations of Mexican-American’s gather.
“There’s about three that I know of, there are more if you include the church groups,” Herrera says about danza groups in Houston. For Herrera’s Danza Azteca Taxcayolotl group, it is more of a community gathering, with around 20 people holding regular sessions in Eastwood Park. The name of the group means “working together with the same heart.”
Herrera explains it as a metaphor for people coming together with the same vision. And during regular dance sessions, that’s precisely what the group is trying to do. The vision in this case is reaching out to the past and strengthening the knowledge of indigenous Mexican culture of people in Houston.
But like a lot of the others, the tools of the danza are mostly the same: instruments such as the huehuetl, or drum, made from the trunk of a tree and the caracol, or trumpet shell, that helps initiate the danza ceremonies. The feathered copilli is the headdress that provides the look of an Aztec warrior.
It does more than provide a cultural look, though, it can connect beyond the costume and into the spirit of the culture.
“I was able to communicate things to my grandparents,” Herrera said after entering the danza lifestyle. “I was saying things to them on their deathbeds, and it was some of the most profound conversations I’ve had with them, right before they passed on to the other world. Without the danza, I probably wouldn’t have been that interested in learning and connecting in the way that I did.”
Camilo Hannibal Smith is a freelance writer in Houston.