Not a Devotee, Just Death-Curious
Exploring Santa Muerte, the Skeleton Saint of Mexico
When I first traveled to Mexico two decades ago, I noticed her.
It was around Día de los Muertos—Day of the Dead—so I didn’t think much of it at the time. Skulls and skeletons were everywhere, and the image of a skeletal Virgin Mary-like figure blended naturally into the festive landscape. A skull-faced version of the Virgin of Guadalupe didn’t seem out of place—it felt like a natural part of Mexico’s visual and spiritual aesthetic.
But when I returned in 2025, something within me shifted.
This time, something felt different. I wasn’t just curious—I was open in a way I hadn’t been two decades earlier. Mexico has a way of stirring the soul, and this trip pulled me deeper into the liminal, the mystical, the unseen threads that run through its culture like underground rivers. I’ve always been a witch—not just in the Pinterest boards and Instagram vibes kind of way (though I love that too), but in the quiet, intuitive sense of someone who’s always felt energy moving beneath the surface of things, and trusted the pull of dreams, signs, and subtle knowing long before I had language for it. It’s a “label” I’ve kept private for years. But here, under that hot sky, surrounded by altars, offerings, and whispers of devotion, I felt something shift. It was like the veil between me and my own truth had thinned. This journey cracked me open—and made it clear: it’s time to embrace that label.
“Being back in Mexico didn’t just inspire me—it activated me. And standing before Santa Muerte—part saint, part goddess, part shadow mirror—I saw a reflection of something ancient, raw, and deeply feminine. Not a being to worship, but a symbol that spoke to my own spiritual edges. Something clicked. Something called.”
That same figure I saw two decades ago—now unmistakably Santa Muerte—stood out in a way she hadn’t before. A skeletal woman draped in flowing robes, often holding a scythe, scales and a globe—she looked like the Virgin Mary crossed with the Grim Reaper. And yet, she radiated something else entirely: power, reverence, allure.
Classic Virgen de Guadalupe and Santa Muerte illustrations
While I’m not a “devotee” myself, I am deeply drawn to her image and presence—to what she represents, and how she seems to exist in the space between the sacred and the profane. I ended up visiting several esoteric shops, asking questions, diving into research, and yes, purchasing a Santa Muerte statue, rosaries etc. Not as an act of worship, but as a way of honoring that pull—of acknowledging something ancient and strangely familiar that her image stirred in me.
Suddenly, I was seeing her everywhere—not just in bruja shops and market stalls, but in street altars, storefronts, keychains, candles, tattoos. The more I noticed, the more I wanted to know. Who was she, really? What was the story behind this bony lady of death?
This post is for others who are intrigued—those drawn to the unsettling but oddly comforting mix of death, divinity, and devotion. I’m not a devotee, but I’ve taken the time to learn about her, to dig into her history, meaning, and living presence in the world today.
“I mean, really—a skeleton saint who accepts offerings of candy, alcohol, cigarettes, and grants favors in love, money, and justice? What’s not to be intrigued by?”
Despite how she’s portrayed in pop culture —remember that eerie scene in Breaking Bad, (Season 3, episode 1), when the Salamanca cousins crawl toward her altar? (More about this later.) Santa Muerte’s following goes far beyond cartel mythos. Her devotees come from all walks of life, and her story is much older—and far more layered—than pop culture and media suggest.
From Breaking Bad, season 3, episode 1 "No Más": The crawling towards the Santa Muerte altar
Who Is the Bony Lady? Tracing the Origins of Santa Muerte
Santa Muerte wasn’t born in a flash of media frenzy or from the dark alleys of narco folklore—she has deep ancestral roots in Mexico’s spiritual history. Her presence is stitched from indigenous reverence for death and Catholic saint worship, forming a figure both ancient and evolving.
Long before Spanish colonizers arrived, the indigenous peoples of Mesoamerica already had a sacred relationship with death. The Aztecs revered Mictecacihuatl, the Queen of the Underworld, guardian of bones and presider over death rituals. For them, death was part of the cycle of life—not something to be feared, but to be understood and honored.
Mictecacihuatl - Aztec Goddess Of The Dead
When the Spanish imposed Catholicism, these indigenous beliefs didn’t vanish. They went underground, surviving through syncretism. Over time, death took on new shapes—one of them being Santa Muerte, the skeletal lady cloaked in the robes of saints. She holds Catholic symbols (scythe, globe, rosary), yet she is no canonized saint. She emerged from the people, not the Church.
Her worship remained underground for centuries—whispered in shadows, kept behind closed doors, passed quietly from one devotee to another. She lived in the margins, much like the people who turned to her: the overlooked, the outcast, the desperate, and the devout. Though her presence was felt in private rituals and unmarked altars, Santa Muerte didn’t step fully into the public eye until 2001.
That year, Doña Enriqueta Romero, a local woman from Tepito, one of Mexico City’s most notorious yet culturally rich neighborhoods, decided to bring her devotion into the open. She placed a life-sized statue of Santa Muerte in a glass case outside her home for all to see—cloaked in robes, scythe in hand, candles flickering at her feet.
“People came. First a few, then dozens, then hundreds. They brought flowers, tequila, coins, cigarettes. They whispered prayers and poured out confessions. Some came in silence, others wept. It was as if a spiritual dam had broken, and the unspoken faith of so many finally had a place to breathe.”
From that moment, her following didn’t just grow—it erupted. What had once been hidden was now defiantly visible, a spiritual uprising led not by institutions, but by the people themselves. Street altars began to appear across Mexico. Shrines popped up in border towns and U.S. cities. Statues were sold in markets. Candles bearing her image filled shelves in botánicas from LA to New York.
Santa Muerte had come out of the shadows—and she wasn't going back.
Though labeled a "narco-saint" by some media, her true following spans a far broader spectrum: vendors, mothers, truckers, lawyers, healers, LGBTQ+ youth, and spiritual outsiders who feel rejected by mainstream religion. What unites them is not crime—but need, faith, and a connection to a saint who does not judge.
Doña Enriqueta Romero
What Does Santa Muerte Symbolize? More Than Just Death…
At first glance, she might look like an icon of doom—a skeletal figure in a funeral cloak, scythe in hand, gaze unflinching. But for those who know her, Santa Muerte is far from grim. She is protector, healer, avenger, mother, and guide. She stands at the crossroads of fear and faith, shadow and sanctuary. Her symbolism isn’t just about death—it’s about life lived in the face of death. It’s about courage, truth, and the kind of love that doesn’t flinch when things get dark.
Death as the Great Equalizer
Santa Muerte personifies the one truth we all share: death comes for everyone. But she doesn’t come with cruelty or judgment. She comes with honesty, with the same arms for kings and beggars alike. In a world obsessed with power, purity, and moral hierarchy, Santa Muerte offers something radically different—a presence that accepts you exactly as you are.
She doesn't care if you're holy or broken, rich or poor, saint or sinner. She isn’t interested in your resume of righteousness. She simply is. And in that is-ness, there’s a kind of profound relief. A reminder that nothing lasts forever—neither pain nor power, neither joy nor injustice—and that there is peace to be found in letting go.
To her devotees, she isn’t terrifying. She’s comforting. She’s the one who walks beside you when no one else will. She’s the mother of endings—and, in her way, of new beginnings too.
Side note:
Mexico’s Relationship with Death:
In Mexico, death isn’t feared—it’s honored. Día de los Muertos shows us this clearly: families build altars to welcome back their dead with food, music, marigolds, and laughter. Death is seen as a return, not a loss. This cultural intimacy with death makes a figure like Santa Muerte feel less threatening, even nurturing. She is part of a spiritual lineage that sees death not as an end—but a companion.
Photo from Día de los Muertos 2022 in Oaxaca by Kristina Ros
The Sacred Skeleton: Mother of the Marginalized
Santa Muerte wears the cloak of the Divine Feminine, often mirroring the familiar form of the Virgin Mary—specifically La Virgen de Guadalupe—but beneath that robe is the skeletal face of raw, unfiltered truth. She is both beautiful and terrifying, both comforting and uncompromising. In her, the sacred and the profane are not opposites, but partners. She holds the paradox with ease: giver and taker, mother and reaper, healer and punisher. She reminds us that even death can come with grace. Even death can have a mother’s touch.
“She sees your faith and not your face.”
— Doña Enriqueta Romero
But her most radical power might be this: she sees those the world refuses to see. She walks with the marginalized, the criminalized, the queer, the poor, the addicted, the forgotten. She does not demand purity. She does not require repentance. She asks only for honesty, respect, and devotion. In a world that builds walls and withholds blessings, Santa Muerte opens her arms to those left behind. For many, she is not just a saint or a symbol—she is the only one who listens when no one else will.
Her Sacred Tools
Santa Muerte is often shown with:
A scythe – to cut away suffering, lies, or even lives
A globe – symbolizing her dominion over the world
Scales or hourglasses – tools of justice, karma, and the ticking nature of time
Each object reflects her dual role as judge and protector, destroyer and provider.
Robes of Many Colors
Her robes come in different colors, each tied to a different aspect of her power.
Black – Protection, power, revenge, banishing negativity
Red – Love, passion, emotional strength
Gold/Yellow – Wealth, success, prosperity
Green – Legal matters, justice, balance
Blue – Wisdom, communication, peace of mind
Purple – Spirituality, transformation, psychic power
Her devotees often choose candles or robes that match the energy they are calling into their lives.
Santa Muerte life-size statue in a market in San Francisco de Campeche. Photo by me.
How Do People Worship Santa Muerte Today?
There is no church of Santa Muerte. No Sunday sermon. No official priesthood. Her worship is folk devotion—raw, personal, and constantly evolving.
Home Altars
Devotees often set up home altars with a statue or image of Santa Muerte, surrounded by candles, incense, flowers, food, cigarettes, alcohol—whatever they believe she enjoys. These altars become daily spaces of prayer and ritual, not just for asking favors, but for building a relationship with her.
Devotion Through Promises
A central part of worship is petition and repayment. Followers often promise to offer something in return for her help—a rosary, a tattoo, an offering. If the wish is granted, they fulfill the promise. If not, they may continue to pray, negotiate, or accept her silence.
Collective Celebration
Many devotees mark the 1st of each month as her day, refreshing her altar and offering new gifts. Her main feast day, November 1st, is a massive public celebration—especially in places like Tepito, where thousands gather to honor her with music, candles, and ceremony.
Folk Magic and Rituals
In Mexican brujería, Santa Muerte is often invoked for love spells, protection, legal issues, and spiritual cleansing. While some use her image for vengeance or darker rituals, many focus on healing, justice, and empowerment.
The Digital Altar
Today, worship has also gone online. From YouTube prayers to TikTok rituals, her presence has entered the global digital age. Altars are now also virtual. Offerings are mailed or posted. The devotion knows no borders.
Santa Muerte life-size statue and altar in an esoteric shop in Mérida. Photo by me.
Myths and Misconceptions of the Bony Lady
Santa Muerte has been demonized, misunderstood, and sensationalized. Let’s clear up the noise:
She is not Satanic:
She has nothing to do with Satan. Most of her followers blend Catholic symbols with folk beliefs.
Not just for criminals:
Yes, some cartel members worship her. But so do taxi drivers, nurses, grandmothers, queer youth, and the deeply spiritual.
Not anti-Christian:
Many of her followers still pray to Jesus or the Virgin. Her worship lives outside the Church, not in opposition to it.
She doesn’t demand blood:
Offerings are usually candles, candy, liquor, or flowers—gifts of affection, not fear.
She doesn’t "bring" death:
Devotees often pray to her to prevent death or illness, not cause it. She is protection as much as she is reminder.
Santa Muerte frightens some because she forces us to confront what we prefer to avoid: death, ambiguity, and the sacredness of the marginal. But for many, she is not a monster. She is truth.
So, Why Does the Salamanca Cousins Crawl to Her Altar in Breaking Bad?
From Breaking Bad, season 3, episode 1 "No Más": The Salamanca cousins in front of the Santa Muerte altar they crawled on their knees to
That unforgettable scene—two silent hitmen crawling through the dirt toward a Santa Muerte shrine—isn’t just for drama. It reflects a real-life devotional practice in folk spirituality.
Acts of physical sacrifice—like crawling, kneeling, or walking barefoot—are used to demonstrate humility, penance, or desperation. It’s a way of saying, “I’ll suffer for you—please hear me.”
In the show, the cousins are preparing for a mission of violence and vengeance, and they seek her blessing and protection. The message is clear: death is near, and they want death’s favor on their side.
Breaking Bad used this scene to highlight the spiritual seriousness behind the violence—not to mock Santa Muerte, but to acknowledge her presence in the cultural and spiritual reality of modern Mexico.
The little Santa Muerte statue I brought home with me from Mexico. (She is not on my altar, this is just my decor aesthetics) Photo by me.
⚠️ Disclaimer ⚠️
I’m not a historian, anthropologist, or expert on Mexican culture, Catholicism, or Santa Muerte. I’m simply a witch, an occult nerd, and a spiritual seeker sharing my personal experience and research. This post reflects my own interpretations and what I’ve learned through travel, reading, desk research and conversations. I deeply respect the cultural, religious, and historical complexity of Santa Muerte and acknowledge that there are many perspectives—especially from within Mexico—that go far beyond my own.
If you're inspired to learn more, I encourage you to seek out voices from Mexican devotees, scholars, and practitioners who have been walking this path much longer than I have. <3
