Caitlin Doughty's Blog, page 21
May 13, 2018
Cabinet of Curiosities: The Jizo Statues of Japan
In the cemetery at Rurikoji, an historic temple in Yamaguchi, Japan famed for its towering pagoda, a narrow path meanders up the hillside and into the forest above. Lining the path are dozens, maybe hundreds of little stone statues resembling plump-cheeked children or a placid Buddha-like figures.
Almost all the little statues, known as Jizo or the honorific O-Jizo-san or O-Jizo-sama, wear redknit caps. Some wear red, green, or pink bibs; some wear knit capes or an infant’s coat; somehave beads placed around their neck. Higher up on the path, under the cover of trees, a fewhave offerings placed next to them: little toys or trinkets, fruit, flowers, piles of pebbles. One even had a mini basketball – the kind a child might win at a carnival or arcade.
Looking down upon the aging, tightly clustered graves climbing up the hill, the Jizo seem at firstglance to be a cheerful addition to a rather solemn place. It’s not uncommon for visitors or tourists to remark on how “cute” they are.
But their sweet appearance belies a mournful purpose. Jizo statues represent Jizo Bosatsu, a divinity in Japanese Buddhism who protects children who have died before their parents.
Dating back as far as the 14th century, if not earlier, the belief is that when a child dies they have not accrued enough good karma on earth. So children are sent to Sai no Kawara, a limbo on the banks of the mythical Sanzu River – the river souls must cross into the afterlife. At Sai no Kawara, children must endlessly stack stone towers in order to atone for the pain they caused their parents, as well as to gain enough merit to someday cross the Sanzu. Their suffering is exacerbated by the demons that populate the riverbed, coming out at night to knock over the stone towers the children have built. The children are doomed to keep building and rebuilding the towers. (This is why you will often see little piles of rocks or pebbles next to a Jizo statue – it is an attempt to shorten the time a child might have in Sai no Kawara.)
Instead of moving on to enlightenment, it is said that Jizo Bosatsu instead chose to spend eternity ushering the lost souls of children across the Kanzu River hidden in the sleeves of his robe.
Mourning parents clothe Jizo statues and bring them offerings in the hopes of accruing merit for their children in the afterlife. Though an adorned Jizo usually indicates death – red being the color of life, death, and protection in Japan – sometimes a Jizo statue clothed in bright colors, surrounded by gifts, indicates that a child survived an illness. The offerings and adornment are to thank Jizo Bosatsu.
And while Jizo is primarily associated with stillborn, miscarried, or aborted children, or children who died very young, he also protects all children, as well as women, travelers, and lost souls in general.
You can find Jizo statues all over Japan – in temples, cemeteries, even tucked to the side of busy streets. There are literally thousands of Jizo statues peppering the country.
So if you’re ever in Japan and you spy a kawaii (cute) little round-faced statue wearing a knit cap and bib, take a moment to consider why that statue is dressed like that and maybe help out bit by stacking a pile of stones.
Louise Hung is an American writer living in Japan. You may remember her from xoJane’s Creepy Corner, Global Comment, or from one of her many articles on death, folklore, or cats floating around the Internet. Follow her on Twitter.
Sources/more on Jizo
Japan’s Colorful Gravestone Decorations Protect the Souls of Lost Children
The Story of Jizo Boatsu (Ksitigarbha Bodhisatva)
A guide to Jizo, guardian of travelers and the weak
If you enjoyed this piece, please consider supporting our work. Your contribution goes directly toward running The Order, including resources, research, paying our writers and staff, and funding more frequent content. We’d love to keep pushing the funerary envelope in 2018. Visit our Support Us page, for a variety of easy ways to contribute.
May 11, 2018
April 30, 2018
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April 18, 2018
An Interview with My Mother, A Grave Gardener
My mom is a simple woman. In her simplicity, there is a fearlessness that manifests itself as selflessness. She wants for nothing and instead gives all she has to others: her three kids, her family, her neighbors, the dead. Her name is Mary — though she prefers Mair, as she rebelled against her moniker’s religious roots growing up — and she’s a grave gardener in New York’s Hudson Valley. She’s a florist who cares for the graves of those who are no longer with us.
After giving life to me, my mom surrounded me with death. The cemetery was my day care, my pre- and post-school playground. It was there that I grew up, watching my mom tend to her clients and their places of rest. Amongst the gravestones and mausoleums, my spongy brain enveloped every answer my mom would give to my every question (and yes, there were a lot of them). I was her assistant, helping wash and tidy and plant blossoms, all while I grew to understand the culture and religion of death.
It is because of my grave gardener mom that I’ve grown to become a death-positive woman. I’m a woman who considers death a part of life. Yet, despite all she’s taught me, there are still details surrounding my mom’s profession that I’m unaware of — especially in relation to the rest of the death care industry. To find out more, I did what I’ve always done. I opened my eyes wide, looked up at my mom (I gave her a call; she still lives in New York, while I’m in L.A.), and asked her more.
Anna (A): How did you become a grave gardener?
Mair (M): I became a grave gardener in college, at the first flower shop I worked at. It was called Forget Me Not Florist. I put down grave blankets — which are blankets of evergreen and silk flowers that are meant to keep the dead warm during the winter — and I would also put wreaths on the gravestones at Christmas time.
A: At what age did you become a grave gardener? For how long have you been one?
M: I became a grave gardener at age 15 and I still am, at age 58. Even now, I look forward to every spring, when I get a chance to see what bulbs have survived the cold.
A: I feel like, unintentionally, not many people think of this profession as part of the death care industry. What do you think?
M: I believe it truly is. There are a lot of people who cannot make it to the cemetery because of their age, or maybe they live out of town, but they still want their loved ones’ graves taken care of. Families do not want their loved ones to be forgotten. They want their loved ones to see that they are still honored. It’s my job to bridge that gap.
A: What was it like working in cemeteries? Did you learn anything about the other people working there?
M: It’s peaceful. You see the myriad of ways that families respect their loved ones who have passed on.
Most of the people working there are men, like 99% — at least where I’m from, in New York. I did learn things about the cemetery workers. Some don’t really put too much thought and feeling into what they are doing, while others take pride in their work and truly see the value in what we do.
A: Did the idea of grave gardening interest you or turn you off?
M: The idea really interested me. As a young child, my family spent many hours at the cemetery caring for the dead. We would either bring lunch with us or snacks, and we would sit around and eat. My elders would do plantings and always remembered to put a stone on the gravestone, a token so that those who passed knew that you visited.
A: Did you ever find it ironic that you were planting life around all that death?
M: No. I never thought of it that way, but isn’t that weird? I always felt that I was bringing happiness to people in a sad situation. Now that I think about it and discuss it with you, I feel like it symbolizes the circle of life.
A: What is the most common flower you planted?
M: Geraniums, because they are bright and hardy. And also marigolds — they kept the mosquitos and flies away!
A: Did your clients teach you anything interesting about death culture? What did you learn?
M: My clients were from older generations and they each had different ways of doing things. So they taught me different ways to plant different bulbs, had me decorate with specific religious relics (there were a lot of crosses, rosary beads, and statues of the Blessed Mother), and candles were always a big part of the plots — eternal candles. You would drive past the cemetery at night and see all of them, like nightlights.
A: After you gave birth to me, did you ever think twice about bringing me to the cemetery?
M: After I gave birth to you, I really never gave it a second thought when it came to bringing you to the cemetery so you could work with me. It has always been part of who I was, who I am, and I wanted you to be a part of that. You’re a part of me, too.
A: What was it like the first time you brought me there? Did I have a specific reaction?
M: You were really excited to be in the cemetery. It was kind of like a playground to you, but you showed every single grave respect — it was as if you knew who that person was. It was quite interesting to me, to see how you reacted. You were very calm and very helpful, like you already knew what to do.
A: Did I have any questions as time went on?
M: You had many questions! You would ask… Mom, why do some graves have nothing on them? What do those numbers (the dates) mean? Why do some people have their pictures on the stones? You were also fascinated with the idea of leaving a small stone on a grave. You always made sure to do that before we left.
A: Along the way, you gave me a death-positive outlook. Was this intentional?
M: I never wanted you to be scared of death, because there is nothing to be scared of. I remember setting up flowers in the funeral home at a young age, and sometimes I would be there while the undertaker prepared the body. I felt part of something bigger, and it calmed me. I always wanted you to feel the same way. I wanted you to know that death wasn’t like something out of a horror movie — that’s all fake. [laughs]
A: What would be your advice to other parents who want their kids to be death-positive?
M: Be open with them, based on what you believe. And don’t be afraid to share other’s beliefs with them. Give them the tools they need to approach death on their own terms and at their own pace.
I told my children that there is a wonderful, peaceful place where our loved ones will go after they leave their bodies. I told them that we will see that person in another lifetime. It’s the circle of life. There is nothing to be afraid of.
A: Reflecting on your time as a grave gardener, what would you say is the most important thing you learned about death?
M: Death is peace. I remember, when your grandma, my mom, was sick, all I wanted for her was to find peace, to be free from all that pain.
When Anna Gragert isn’t trying to create a groundbreaking third-person bio for herself, she’s befriending stray cats or working as the lifestyle editor at HelloGiggles. She’s also written for creative communities such as Catapult, My Modern Met, Equality For Her, and Cheap Pop. Check out Anna’s portfolio or follow her on Twitter/Instagram for more.
If you enjoyed this piece, please consider supporting our work. Your contribution goes directly toward running The Order, including resources, research, paying our writers and staff, and funding more frequent content. We’d love to keep pushing the funerary envelope in 2018. Visit our Support Us page, for a variety of easy ways to contribute.
April 13, 2018
April 7, 2018
March 30, 2018
March 25, 2018
Cabinet of Curiosities: Victorian Death Dolls
If you were a girl-child during the Victorian era, you probably had a doll.
With a sweet, cherubic face that doll was seen not only as the reinforcement of innocence, but also a model in which to practice social interactions and gender norms. While childhood in the late 19th century was seen as a time for play, that play also came with instruction.
Through tending to their dolls, girls were taught tho sew, knit, and fashion clothing. They play-acted tea parties and courtships, and learned the expectations and rules of femininity. Of course they were encouraged to dote on babydolls like they were their own; preparing girls for life as a good wife and mother.
But there was another role that dolls prepared girls for: funerals.
Young girls were given “death kits”, everything a future-woman might need to practice executing a wake and funeral.
A kit would include a doll with black mourning clothes and a doll-sized coffin. The girl would then practice dressing the doll, laying it out for visitation, placing it in the coffin, and facilitating a funeral. She might also be expected to practice attending to the grief of the doll’s mourners.
Now a-days this might seem like a lot to ask of a young girl, but in the Victorian era up until the mid-20th century there was a high likelihood that a woman would be called upon to care for the dead. That’s what women did.
So that’s what girls did. They did tea-parties and death rituals.
So not much has changed.
But dolls were more than Little Suzy’s Funeral Friends
, for many they were a part of the grieving process.
When a child or infant died, if a family could afford it they might have a realistic wax doll created in the likeness of their child. Dressed in the child’s clothing and often adorned with locks of the dead child’s hair, the effigy would depict the child as peacefully sleeping.
The doll would be prepared for the wake and funeral, being displayed for mourners near the body of the child. Sometimes the effigy would be a full bodied doll, its body weighted with sand so as to feel more realistic, and with a flat back so as to lie down nicely in something like a tiny coffin. Dolls of older children might just be a head and shoulders, with the back of the head and torso flattened so it could be framed.
After the funeral the doll would either be left at the child’s grave or kept in the home, perhaps displayed in a glass coffin. Often cared for much like a real child, the mourning doll might be placed in a bed or crib and have its clothes regularly changed.
Resources
“Wax Dolls, Montanari and Pierotti Dolls – Gotta Love The Beauty of Wax”
“The Lovely and Disturbing: The History of Wax Dolls”
“The History of Creepy Dolls”
“Encyclopedia of Children and Childhood in History and Society”
Louise Hung is an American writer living in Japan. You may remember her from xoJane’s Creepy Corner, Global Comment, or from one of her many articles on death, folklore, or cats floating around the Internet. Follow her on Twitter.
If you enjoyed this piece, please consider supporting our work. Your contribution goes directly toward running The Order, including resources, research, paying our writers and staff, and funding more frequent content. We’d love to keep pushing the funerary envelope in 2018. Visit our Support Us page, for a variety of easy ways to contribute.
March 23, 2018
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