JAI ON EARTH Discovering Our Planet

Dear Readers,

On this solemn day, as we turn the pages of this issue, we pause—not just to reflect, but to remember. September 11, 2001, is no longer just a date. It’s a legacy. A scar. A quiet promise etched into our collective soul that we will never forget.

Twenty-four years later, the weight of that morning has not faded. Time does not heal all wounds—it merely teaches us how to carry them. And today, we carry the memory of 2,977 souls. Mothers and fathers. Daughters and sons. Friends, neighbors, heroes. Lives lost not because of who they were, but because of what they represented: freedom, unity, and the simple act of waking up and going about a normal day.

They boarded planes, sat at their desks, brewed coffee, called loved ones, kissed their children goodbye—never knowing that their ordinary would become a nation’s extraordinary.

To the firefighters, paramedics, and police officers who rushed toward the flames when others fled—we honor you. To the passengers of Flight 93 who said “no more” and altered the course of history—we remember you. To the mothers who raised flags when they could no longer raise their children, to the fathers who mourned in silence, and to every soul who watched the towers fall and felt their world shift—we stand with you.

This article cannot undo the pain. No words can. But it can carry forward what 9/11 taught us: That unity is not a theory, it’s a choice. That in our darkest hours, strangers become family. That even as buildings fell, humanity rose.

We remember not only the loss, but the love. The candlelit vigils. The homemade banners. The blood donations. The moments when time stopped and all that mattered was being together.

So today, we honor them with remembrance, not silence. With compassion, not complacency. With hearts full, not heavy.

Let us never forget the sound of their laughter, the promise of their lives, the dreams they were chasing, and the bravery they left behind. Let us speak their names. Let us tell their stories. Let us continue to live in a way that would make them proud.

From the ashes of that September morning, a flame of resilience still burns. It burns in every child born after 2001 who grew up hearing, “Let me tell you what happened that day.” It burns in the memorial pools, where every name is carved in stone and water flows in quiet tribute. It burns in you. In me. In us.

We remember. We grieve. We honor. And most of all, we carry them forward.

With deepest respect and unshakable remembrance,
JAI ON EARTH