“All autobiography is storytelling; All writing is autobiography.” ~ J. M. Coetzee.

I have spent the year so far in what I like to call ‘the land of my rebirth’.  Having been born in the UK and moved to Jamaica at age almost 8, I came of age here.  It is a place both beautiful and ugly, mother nature soaring high above you, in green hillsides, and cloud betopped ridges while squalor and garbage line the roadside below.  It is a land of innovative geniuses, people who can solve many problems with ingenuity and determination while simple paperwork defies logic and exhausts patience.

But Jamaica entices, she teases, and like any imperfect lover, she holds you captive with promises, her fine structure, and her timeless beauty.  For me Jamaica also holds the memory of my parents.  Here they spent the longest part of their working life, both of them enmeshed in the community of Chapelton, a town (former parish capital) perched high, surrounded by higher mountains.  When they retired they left behind church members, fellow teachers and friends, and had an impact that continues to ripple outwards today.  So any trip to Jamaica is certain to include moments that bring their memories back to life.

When your parents have status or stature in the community in which they serve, no matter your age and whatever status you have attained, you are still ‘Parson Jones’ daughter’.  Following the death of one of their good friends, the town baker and faithful church member, I realized that the number of their surviving peers has dwindled, and if I wanted to honor their memory, I needed to make sure I visited anyone still alive that they would make the point of seeing, if they were still alive.

Which took me to the current home of a former teacher, one who used to call my mother his ‘personal secretary’, as she was always willing to type up a letter for him.  He is now close to 90 years of age, and more or less housebound due to his various health challenges.  But his mind is still clear, he was able to call names of people we (the younger old people in the room) were struggling with.

In a book I read recently the author described us humans, saying we are all just ‘stardust and stories’.  What a wonderful concept! According to the National History Museum, we are made up of elements that originated in stars billions of years ago! You and I and everyone on this planet have as our building blocks, ingredients that originated out there, out in the cosmos.  How can we not shine, and recognize the starlight in each other?

But we are much more than the sum of our parts.  We have consciousness, and the ability to think, to create, and unfortunately, to destroy.  We use stories to convey our ideas, our history, our lives.  If we are to survive another millennium, we will need to share more stories that bring us together, to fight the forces that embody our worst impulses.

Although I am outside of the US (returning soon) I am aware of the current state of affairs.  From terrorist acts killing New Year’s Eve revelers on the streets of New Orleans, to arctic cold and ‘thundersnow’ affecting the North East, to forest fires destroying homes in California. Whether man-made or natural, we are staring once more at a world made fragile by the consequences of our actions, and yet our world leaders are not acting with a sense of urgency. Climate activists have been sounding the alarm for decades.  In listening to tributes to the centenarian former President Carter, I was reminded that it was he who first took steps to impede climate change almost 50 years ago.  He was laughed at, at the time.  Once he was out of office, his successor   Ronald Reagan made sure to dismantle the solar energy panels he had installed.  And we are facing a similar set of actions.  We can be sure that the incoming president (he who shall not be named) will roll back any legislation that regulates those industries which have the most negative impact on our climate’s health.  We already know that he only holds as significant actions which positively impact the income of his wealthy patrons, at the expense of millions of working Americans.

But here in the ‘green isle of the Indies’ I can afford to be optimistic, to believe in the ultimate goodness of people.  Yesterday morning I sat in the cool hills of St. James, watching the mist nestle in the hills just beyond my reach while the early morning fog hid the sun from view.  The dew that collected on the leaves of banana trees, in the spikey stalks of pineapples, along the razor-sharp edges of sugar cane, formed drops and plop-plopped onto the ground.  Around me occasional roosters crowed; random dogs barked; a worried goat bleated; blackbirds cawed and smaller birds chatted away.  In rural Jamaica weather has affected the crop output this year.  Hurricane Beryl knocked down countless fruit trees and other food sources, making prices for sweet peppers, scotch bonnet peppers and tomatoes ridiculous.  Especially as many vegetables are being imported.  Yet with resilience and the support of local farmers, the local crops are bouncing back. 

We stand on the shoulders of giants, people who put nation over individual, who put community above personal gain.  When we look out only for our own well-being, for our own prosperity, we ignore the fact that on this planet we are all attached, all single particles of one organism.  We survive (or not) together.

This Friday morning, the second of the New Year and the last of my current visit to Jamaica, I am surrounded by memories of my childhood, and of my parents and their friends.  I am hopeful that their stories will not be lost to history, for in their stories are messages of inspiration, of resilience, of hope.  But beyond that, there are stories of personal sacrifice for the greater good of the whole, and this is how we need to change our thinking for 2025.  My mother used to play scrabble in a way that would lose her the game: she made moves that would open up the board, to give opportunities for her opponents to be successful.  Not for her the 2 letter words that included high point letters on triple word scores.  She played for a more expansive game.  In a selfish world she was unusual, but in this age of cataclysmic events, it is time for us all to be selfless.

I hope that 2025 brings about a new way of thinking, of working together for the common good.  May everyone have good health, adequate food, secure housing, and a will to share stories for the betterment of mankind.

Have a wonderful weekend, Family (fellow stardust!)

One Love!

Namaste.