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Limu Emu and Doug Here we have the Limu Emu in its natural habitat, helping people customize their car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual. Fascinating. It's accompanied by his natural ally, Doug.
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Uh, Limu is that guy with the binoculars watching us?
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Cut the camera. They see us. Only pay for what you need@libertymutual.com Liberty Liberty Liberty Liberty Savings vary unwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company and affiliates Excludes Massachusetts.
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Lets say your small business has a problem, like maybe one of your doggie daycare customers had an accident. You might say something like, doggone it.
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Hey, Chihuahua. Holy schnauzers.
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But if you need someone who can actually help, just say, like a good.
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Neighbor, State Farm is there.
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And get help filing a claim from your local State Farm agent for your small business insurance needs. Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.
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Foreign. I'm Maggie Smith, and this is the Slowdown. Every religion has its holy sites. Jerusalem, Mecca, Vatican City, Lumbini, the Buddha's birthplace in Nepal, among many, many others. Believers might make a pilgrimage to that place, a visit to show their respect and perhaps experience a transcendent moment, or find personal transformation. I'm not a religious person, but I think everyone has places that are sacred to them, places we might return to as pilgrims, as seekers. I think of how people visit the graves of their ancestors or the places where they once lived. When we stand where our loved ones once stood, it does feel special and meaningful to be in that space on that ground. I think of how common it is for people to want to go back to their childhood towns or even houses, to see what has changed and to remember what it was like to live there. I think of people returning again and again to places in nature that feel like homes away from home, certain coastlines or flowers, forests or mountains. Today's poem meditates on sacred spaces and how they mean something different to each of us. At the Base of the Mountain by Amanda Hawkins like when someone you love dies and you go to see the body, the hands you used to hold their dry, tender skin, or when you returned to the place the remains were spread, the texture of the grains of sand and rock, indiscernible from what could be the ashes, the mountain behind the monastery rises like an atheist's unspoken prayer, a holy however the divine keeps separate. Except when the divine comes down, unburns a bush, speaks to the wind, commands the mountains to leap into the sea. Generally exposed rock here suggests origination from differing depths. Beware, says a respected theologian. Don't read meaning into places meaning might not exist when Almighty descended in a cloud or fire on the place above where the people camped, I read the mountain melted, melted like wax, like a flake of fat on the tongue. The mountain melted. Never mind. No one agrees on which mountain the Lord came down, if the Lord came down at all, or if there is a Lord to come. Some say something holy happened somewhere on a mountain and we want to confirm the location, name the place. Who would not want to return to a place of revelation? Some go to churches, consecrated sites, on pilgrimages in their minds or on foot to locations they believe something near holy might or might have or could. Once again, never mind. The place one calls the mountain of God is most likely not the place a neighbor calls the mountain of the same name. Never mind. When I was there at the base, I felt nothing but but absence and the still foreignness of unbelief. Even then I must have something of myth or monasteries or the mountain itself. I must have. Even now I keep returning.
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The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. To get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter. Find us on Instagram lodownshow and bluesky slowdownshow.org the slowdown is written by me, Maggie Smith. Our lead producer is Micah Kielbon and our associate producer is Maria Wurtel. Our music is composed by Kyle Andrews, engineering by Derek Ramirez. Our editor is Joanne Griffith. Additional production help by Susanna Sharpless, Cece Lucas, Marcel Malachibu and Lauren Humpert. Our executives in charge are Chandra Kavati and Mark Crowley.
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Maggie here, host of the Slowdown. Listening to and reading poetry helps us find our footing in an uncertain world, especially during challenging times. You can help keep these moments of poetry and reflection going by making a gift today. Visit slowdownshow.org donate.
Episode: 1407: “At the Base of the Mountain” by Amanda Hawkins
Host: Maggie Smith
Date: December 1, 2025
This episode of The Slowdown explores the deeply personal nature of sacred spaces—how we seek meaning, solace, and reflection by returning to places tied to our stories, memories, and beliefs. Host Maggie Smith introduces Amanda Hawkins’ meditative poem “At the Base of the Mountain” as a lens through which to consider the idea of pilgrimage, both religious and secular, and what it means to revisit physical and metaphorical mountains in search of the divine or some semblance of truth.
On Secular Pilgrimage:
“I think everyone has places that are sacred to them, places we might return to as pilgrims, as seekers.”
—Maggie Smith ([01:17])
On the Elusiveness of the Sacred:
“The mountain behind the monastery rises like an atheist's unspoken prayer, a holy however the divine keeps separate.”
—Amanda Hawkins ([03:00], poem read by Maggie Smith)
On Doubt and Return:
“When I was there at the base, I felt nothing but absence and the still foreignness of unbelief. Even then I must have something of myth or monasteries or the mountain itself. I must have. Even now I keep returning.”
—Amanda Hawkins ([05:55], poem read by Maggie Smith)
The episode is gently reflective, open-minded, and grounded in the everyday search for meaning. Maggie Smith’s tone is contemplative and inclusive as she invites listeners to consider their own sacred places—whether rooted in faith, memory, or nature—and to acknowledge that the longing for transformation and solace is universal, even in the face of uncertainty.