Día de los Muertos: Remembering with Heart and Spirit

By Amor Craun

As an Indigenous Muslim woman of the Purépecha and Wixárika communities, I hold deep respect for the spiritual traditions that have shaped our people for generations. For many Mexican Muslims, Día de los Muertos can bring questions about faith and practice—but understanding its true roots reveals that this time is not about worshiping the dead. It is about remembrance, gratitude, and connection to the Creator through the love we continue to hold for those who have passed.

Before colonization, our ancestors viewed death not as an ending, but as a return to the Source. The Mexica, Purépecha, Wixárika, and other Indigenous peoples saw life and death as sacred partners in the same divine cycle. Día de los Muertos, therefore, is a moment to honor that balance and the memory of those who came before us.

Islam’s Roots on Turtle Island: A Shared History of Refuge and Resistance

It is crucial to remember that Islam’s presence on Turtle Island is not new, nor is it disconnected from Indigenous and African histories. Our roots here are deeply intertwined with African, African American, and Indigenous communities who gave protection to enslaved Muslims when they escaped from the plantations where they were held captive. These acts of refuge and solidarity created bonds that predate modern Muslim immigration, bonds forged in resistance to the same colonial violence that sought to destroy all Indigenous ways of life.

Islam came to these lands not through conquest, but through chains, and through the courageous hands that broke them. The Indigenous peoples who sheltered escaped enslaved Muslims understood oppression intimately and extended kinship across difference. This shared history reminds us that our presence as Muslims on this continent is inseparable from Indigenous hospitality and African resilience. In fact it built the first places of Muslim worship in the Americas in Maroon communities.

Be Like the River

Dr. Umar Faruq Abdullah, in his profound article Islam and the Cultural Imperative, offers us a vision of Islam that stands in direct opposition to the cultural genocide wrought by colonialism. He writes:

“In history, Islam showed itself to be culturally friendly and, in that regard, has been likened to a crystal clear river. Its waters (Islam) are pure, sweet, and life-giving but—having no color of their own—reflect the bedrock (indigenous culture) over which they flow. In China, Islam looked Chinese; in Mali, it looked African.”

This image is both beautiful and essential to our understanding as Indigenous Muslims. Islam flows like water, sent to purify culture but never to destroy it. This stands in stark contrast to the genocidal forces of the Catholic Church and U.S. empire, which sought to erase Indigenous peoples, languages, and spiritual traditions throughout Latin America and beyond. Western colonization came with fire and sword to annihilate in front, with the priests following behind them, burning our sacred libraries as a part of what they hoped would be total annihilation of our ancestral wisdoms.

Here on Turtle Island, Islam should, and must, reflect the cultures of the peoples of the Americas, our African and African American roots, and our diverse global culture as Muslims. Just as Islam looked Chinese in China and African in Mali, it should look Indigenous here, carrying the wisdom of Purépecha cosmology, the resilience of African spiritual traditions, and the rhythms of life on this land. This is not a departure from Islam, it is Islam fulfilling its nature as a mercy to all worlds, honoring the diversity that Allah Himself created.

This distinction is essential. Islam does not demand that we sever ourselves from our Indigenous identities or the cultural practices that connect us to our ancestors. Rather, it invites us to bring our whole selves—our languages, our foods, our ways of remembering—into a relationship with the Divine that honors both our fitrah (natural disposition) and our heritage. We must indeed begin to understand Islam itself as an indigenous spiritual practice, that is a written oral tradition passed down through generations with the golden chain of transmission, isnad. Mustafa Dustin Craun, has written about this with his recent series, Towards a New Future Identity of Islam in the Americas.

Remembrance Across Traditions: Understanding Our Boundaries

Throughout Mexico, families prepare ofrendas—offerings of food, flowers, candles, and prayers to welcome the spirits of loved ones home. Each day leading up to November 2 holds its own purpose:

• October 27 is dedicated to remembering those who died alone and our animal companions.
• October 28 honors those who died unexpectedly or in accidents.
• October 29 remembers those who died by drowning.
• October 30 honors those who died unidentified or without food, offering them bread or nourishment.
• October 31 to November 1 are days of vigil for infants, children, and those unable to be born.
• November 2 is dedicated to ancestors and adults.
• November 3 closes the cycle with prayers of farewell and gratitude, asking their spirits to return next year in peace.

These offerings reflect the Indigenous belief that relationships do not end with death—they continue through memory, story, and spirit. This resonates deeply with Islamic teachings, yet as Muslims, we must also understand and honor our own boundaries.

Honoring the Dead Within Islamic Practice

We can embrace the spirit of remembrance that Día de los Muertos embodies while remaining within the boundaries of our faith. In Islam, we remember and honor our deceased through prayers, recitation of Quran, and acts of charity (sadaqah) done in their name. This practice is not foreign to the broader Muslim world, walk through the homes of the Baalawi Sayyids in Yemen or families throughout Southeast Asia and East Africa, and you will see photographs displayed throughout the house, showing their righteous ancestors and awliya (friends of Allah). These visual reminders, and family shrines, keep the memory of the pious alive and inspire us to follow in their footsteps.

However, as Muslims, we cannot create ofrendas where we offer physical food and drink to the dead, as this implies that the deceased can partake of these offerings in a way that contradicts Islamic belief. The dead do not eat or drink, they are in the realm of the barzakh, awaiting the Day of Judgment. What truly benefits them is our remembrance through:

• Prayer (dua): Asking Allah to have mercy on their souls, forgive their sins, and grant them peace in the grave.
• Quran recitation: Reading and gifting the reward of Quranic recitation to their souls.
• Sadaqah (charity): Giving in their name, whether feeding the hungry, supporting orphans, or contributing to causes they cared about.
• Khidma (service): Performing acts of direct service to the community in their honor, continuing the good they began.

We encourage our families to remember our departed loved ones in their prayers, with Quran, and through different types of khidma, direct service done in their honor. When we feed the hungry on behalf of a deceased grandmother, when we teach a child to read Quran in memory of a grandfather, when we plant a tree or dig a well in their name, these are the offerings that truly reach them, that continue to benefit their souls long after they have left this world.

These practices align with the teaching of Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, who said: “When a person dies, their deeds end except for three things: ongoing charity (sadaqah jariyah), beneficial knowledge, or a righteous child who prays for them.” This teaching resonates deeply with Indigenous understandings of continuity and the living bond between generations, we honor our dead not by feeding them, but by continuing their legacy of goodness in the world.

The Heart of Remembrance

Imam al-Ghazali, one of Islam’s greatest scholars of the heart, wrote that remembrance (dhikr) purifies the soul and awakens our awareness of the Divine. Día de los Muertos can be seen in this light, as a communal dhikr, a remembering not only of loved ones but of our shared journey toward the Creator.

For Indigenous Mexican Muslims, this time can be one of healing and reconnection. We can light candles as symbols of guidance and hope, gather our families to share stories of those who have passed, and dedicate our prayers and service to their memory. We can create spaces in our homes that honor our ancestors through photographs and words of remembrance, keeping their legacy alive in our hearts and actions.

We can visit graves, make dua, and recite Surah al-Fatiha for the souls of our departed. We can cook traditional foods not as offerings to the dead, but as a way to gather the living and remember those who once shared these meals with us. We can teach our children about their ancestors and the struggles they endured, ensuring that their names and stories are never forgotten.

A Living Resistance

Día de los Muertos is not a holiday of death, but a celebration of life, memory, and sacred balance. It is a powerful act of Indigenous resistance and remembrance, a defiant proclamation that despite centuries of genocide, erasure, and forced assimilation, we are still here. Our ancestors are still remembered. Our languages, though threatened, still carry truth. Our ceremonies, though transformed, still honor the sacred.

As Indigenous Muslims, we stand at a unique intersection: children of this land and children of Islam, inheritors of pre-colonial wisdom and recipients of prophetic guidance. This is not a contradiction—it is a gift. Our roots and our faith can coexist beautifully when both are rooted in sincerity, love, and submission to the One Creator who created all peoples, all lands, and all ways of returning to the Divine.

We remember because remembering is an act of love. We pray because prayer is the language of the soul. We serve because service is how we honor those who can no longer serve themselves. And we resist erasure, of our Indigenous identities, of our Muslim faith, of the sacred connections that make us whole.

May Allah grant peace to all our ancestors, mercy to those who have passed, and guidance to those of us still walking this earth. And may we never forget that we stand on the shoulders of our ancestors who carried both the weight of oppression and the light of resistance, shoulders that belong to those who loved us before we were born and who continue to love us still.

Ameen.