Transcript
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Major Jackson (0:31)
You attending the AWP 2025 conference in LA? Join the Slowdown for a live off site event with me, Major Padraic Otooma and more friends for poetry, conversation and some fun and games. Friday, March 28 at 7pm at the Crawford in Pasadena. Tickets as I'm Major Jackson and this is the Slowdown, I am contemplating going on a silent retreat this spring. Many of my friends have done it. They return to their daily lives distressed. The idea came to me in the produce section of the grocery store. Just as I reached to squeeze an avocado, I recalled a meeting I missed earlier that day. The zoom call was listed on all my calendars, but I reached my saturation point. I plumb forgot. In my head. I suddenly envisioned a retreat with rolling hills and yoga mats, wind chimes and a breeze Beneath my peaceful calm. I shop the produce section. In the longing days, I need to reconnect with myself. Today's uproarious poem makes me want to abandon our life of chatter to throw off our overly scheduled existence. I want to wake up to truths that that can only be gleaned when I fade out sequentially. Every duty that impresses upon me as needing to get done. Desert Sayings by Donovan Maccabee we have indeed to fashion our own desert where we can withdraw. Henri Nouwen, the Way of the Heart Abba Jehoshaphat told Abba Eli that all creation cannot contain silence. A saying of Abba Stephen each word is jealous of the silence it intrudes upon. Amalidia often recalled that the sound of her heart's truest prayer was the echo of silence. A certain monk was walking through the Negev when he had a vision of a devil holding three leather whips, two in his left hand and a third in his right. The first was woven with wooden beads in the leather, the next with beads of glass, and the last with shards of rusted metal. The devil told the monk that each whip was meant for the punishment of souls in hell. The first of wooden beads for those who in this life spoke ill of their enemies the second of glass beads for those who in this life never spoke up on behalf of the poor and the third whip of rusted metal shards. The most severe was for those who in this life talk too much at dinner parties, Amma Constantia, of blessed memory, often told her friends the best words are the ones that, like needle and thread, sew a seam across the tear. In Silence, a saying of Amma Josephina, each word secretly knows that it is impossible to improve upon silence. Abba Yousef used to say to his monks, go into your cell and listen through to the wordless place beyond the reach of all your knowing. And there in the silence abide not angry silence, says Abajan the leper, nor fearful silence, nor even lonely silence, though that is often the door, but silence to beheld, to behold. Abba Mo smacked Abba Larry with a glance. Abba Larry smacked Abba Curly with a scowl. Abba Curly turned to the silence and uttered the sacred syllables. I'm a synesthesia blind with old age, claimed that the color of silence is lavender. Ama Florentia insisted that listening silence is the midwife of love. Abba Patmos said to the silence, speak. And the silence replied. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. This project is also supported in part by the National Endowment for the Arts on the web@arts.gov to get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter. And find us on Instagram at SlowdownShow and bluesky@downdownshow.org.
