I'm Major Jackson and this is the slowdown.

And this is the slowdown. My former teacher, the poet Sonia Sanchez, turned 90 years old this year. That makes her a Nana-Genarian.

Many folks, young and old, traveled to Harlem to fentur with song, dance, and speeches.

I was especially moved by teenagers from a high school near her Philadelphia home. They spoke of Sonia's enduring commitment to people,

to a world where we stand upright as humans. It was a rousing party for an elder. I wish we had more such gatherings.

Many years ago, when I was her student, her son Mungu walked into a class and handed her a large bright bouquet of flowers.

That's when I learned we share a birthday.

For the better part of 36 years, I have called her on September 9th to pay respects.

I cherish our conversations.

She's one of those elders who remains grounded, but also thinks large about our spiritual health.

She hit on a provocation of that

in her speech at the end of her celebration.

She said,

the Earth cannot continue to sustain us.

Our small and large wars with each other

will eventually lead to a collapse. She said, listen. She said,

resist dehumanizing each other in speech and indeed. She said sit long enough in your quiet and

hear the voices below. Always after conversations with Sonia, I find myself paying attention just a little more.

I noticed the quality of light and air.

Events long ago feel present on the very land beneath me. That

evening on the way to my hotel I noticed bodies on the subway telling their stories, speaking their feelings, their deep

stairs, their slumps of exhaustion, their straight-backed dignity.

...