More Jamaica Musings
This Jamaican landscape is a journey unto itself. Every morning, just as the sun begins to gently stroke the mountains out of their slumber, the clouds turn from orange to cotton candy to warm grey and the only sound is the cacophony of birds weaving their song and coo and whistle into the braying of donkeys, calling of roosters, whiz of the hummingbirds on their morning rounds and chorus of dogs on a distant hill. Today, my special visitor is a small black cat, too shy to be coaxed close, yet clearly announcing herself with a loud meow. The absence of human-generated sound is a gift I will carry in my bones for as long as I can. Sitting here, on the veranda of an old sugar plantation, with a 180-degree view of the valley, I have the space to move at the pace of nature, in rhythm with the rains and the sudden appearance of rainbows. On this sacred land mist forms in the crevices of the mountains, flowing like water, appearing and disappearing, much like the dance of joy and sorrow.
For two weeks now I have been here. During the first five days, there were thirteen others sharing this space and I was in the rhythm of the retreat, sharing the stories of our children, journeying to distant lands, and returning with gifts and tools and insights. And now we have the place to ourselves (thank you covid). Each day I visit three foals, each born a month apart beginning in December. The oldest, Feliz, was attacked by another horse two days after being born and has quite a wound -- permanently damaging the shape and curve of her neck. She is the one that most loves to connect. She nibbles my hair, is fond of ears, and will playfully run with me if she's in the mood. We spend time with the other horses (there are over twenty on the property), the donkeys, Moonie- the frisky one-year-old cow, the peacock whom I've named Don Juan, and the baby bunnies. The medicine here is that taking a walk in any direction puts us in direct contact with trees that are centuries old, animals that invite connection, flocks of egrets that bring an immediate smile to my face and so much more
It is a gift to my soul to honor my descent. I feel like Alice in Wonderland. I fell down the rabbit hole, watched the world swirl by and landed someplace where familiar things are strange and out of proportion. If I hold on to what was, this place is terrifying and uncomfortably foreign. But if, instead, I let go and become curious, if I am present to what is, the magic all around me starts to speak in a language I understand.
Yesterday we listened to an interview with Meghan and Harry about their departure from the royal family. At one point Oprah asked Meghan how it felt to be stripped of her royal title, to which she said, "I have been a waitress, an actress, a princess, but the only title that matters is that I am a mother." That struck me. I will be forever grateful for the honor of being Hunter's mother, for the ways he cracked open my heart, taught me new ways to love, gave me tools I didn't realize I had until after he died. I will always be a mother because of him, yet now he is my teacher, my guide, my muse. While on my journey he said to me, loud and clear, "We are poets, mom.... together our words will impact the world. This is where we blend our energies, this is how I will continue to live with you, through you." And then, yesterday, when doing some automatic writing he said, "You need a bit more discipline, Mom. I know... that's funny coming from me, but I'm wiser now! I want you to write a poem a day. It doesn't have to be great or even good. Just build the muscle and see what emerges." And here I thought I was disciplined! I will listen to his wisdom and build a legacy with him. The words of Joan of Arc come to mind: "I am not afraid. With God by my side, I was born to do this." My version is... "with Hunter by my side, I was born to do this."