By Rex Catubig

 

EVERY culture has its own unique way of grappling with the concept of death and redemption; of life here and life hereafter. Of life in full circle.

It manifests itself in some odd rites and rituals: perhaps bizarre, absurd, irrational and fanciful. But beneath all that, they are ultimately ennobling because they allow us to touch base and come to terms with our primal fears and demons and in some inexplicable way, conquer and subdue them.

Thousands of years ago, the Greeks through their rite of drama recognized hubris and the power of catharsis in bringing about the wholeness of self.

Thousands of years hence, we are yet inventing and re-inventing ways to achieve such unity.

We have since turned variously to the prophets, and listened to the poets and rock stars; made a mission of creating and recreating a motley assortment of psychological projections–to give form and meaning to our innermost fears, desires and passions.

At one time or another, or all at once, we have zombied through Michael Jackson’s Thriller; went gaga over Al-Dub; swooned over and identified with K-pop and K-dramas; created 15-second self-expressions on Tik-Tok, even as we forwent meals and lost sleep over Mobile Legends.

But somewhere in between, in an homage to the subconscious, at once death-defiant, deferential and irreverent, we have brilliantly configured the primeval, colorful, horrific and unapologetically juvenile Halloween.

Whether dressing up in gay abandon with grotesque masks and make up paired with outlandish otherworldly costumes, or simply engaging in scary trick or treat as embodied in the folk practice of Pantawtawag, the magic of Halloween provides the schizoid community and  Christian world a typically gaudy, festive and playful way of balancing its yin and yang.

It’s a way of saying I’m ok if you’re ok. And we should all be ok–in a manner that transcends time and reality: Beyond the political conundrum of Joe Biden in the west, the unbridgeable divide between Leni’s loyal Pink brigade and BBM’s unkabogable  supporters; the war games of Russia and Ukraine; past the menace of Covid and its demonic variants, way past random riding-in-tandem shootings; way over the shortage and soaring price of sugar and onions; the descent of Dow Jones and Nasdaq; a leap of faith beyond the weakening Peso, embracing the fool’s assertion that it is weak merely because the Dollar is strong.

It’s a crazy world we want to wish away on Hallow’s eve.

Ultimately, fanciful Halloween serves as the penultimate Joseph’s fleece Technicolor blanket to wrap our wired, weary and wary minds with, as we bravely venture into the eerie dark night, our untamed heart breaking into wild tom-toms of anticipation to herald the Grand Vigil, as we earnestly pin our hopes on, and bravely and zealously await with Linus the apocalyptic coming of the Great Pumpkin—even in the symbolic absence of the harvest full moon.

Way to go, Charlie Brown! Sana all.

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