#480: SPOTLIGHT: Jaime Posa

#480: Jaime Posa 

November 3, 2026

A Backbeat of Community

Question for Jaime: 

Has something unexpected ever become a witness to your pain or joy? What surprised you about the way it made you feel less alone?

Jaime's Response: 

I always find comfort in seeing the moon in the early morning. I find comfort in seeing the moon at any time of day. But there's something about waking up to the quiet darkness of the world just beginning to wake, and a brightly lit moon making its way down behind the horizon. It's a fleeting moment where I'm given permission to just pause everything and linger in the magic of liminal spaces. On the night I found out that my father had crashed his motorcycle near the Hoover Dam and died, I ran home to my little house in the jungle of Costa Rica and cried and cried and cried alone in my bathroom. 

What finally pulled me out was the moon. Suddenly I realized I needed to go outside and look up. I needed the moon to witness this. To be a placeholder for my pain. To be a constant. I needed her weight, her gravity, her permanence, her changing faces. So I went outside and I sat on the ground and I hugged my knees and I looked up and I still remember exactly what I prayed. I prayed to keep him with me. I said that I knew he had to go now, but to keep him with me. That his leaving was different than his staying. These days, sometimes I have long bouts when he feels far away. Like I can't find him. Like he's busy doing something wherever he is. But when I find the moon on mystical mornings like this when the clouds blanket the river and I'm alone with those early morning thoughts, it's so easy to say Hi Dad. I'm sorry and I love you and I miss you. Just before she dips down behind the mountains.