I'm Major Jackson, and this is the slowdown.

I am fond of visiting lamp stores.

My favorite being the lamp shop in Burlington, Vermont.

It's an old world experience.

Chandeliers, pendant lights, flush-mount fixtures hang from all parts of the ceiling.

Colorful sconces decorate the walls. Candelabra floor lamps crowd

out any would-be buyer. Everywhere you look, your eyes fall upon cones, pillars, and diamonds

of light. Shades the color of flowers turned the store into a luminous garden.

One year, I visited the lamp shop several dozen times and with greater frequency during winter.

It was the year I went through personal challenges by the pound. My inner world was as tenibrous as Vermont's darkest days.

I could not see my way to solutions.

The store represented some ideal of beauty, my attempt at contentment.

Its abundance of light was an effort at feeling good inside and outside.

Some people visit the Caribbean and other warmer climes. I drove to a lamp store. Some people dine by a fireside hearth at their favorite restaurant. I drove to a lamp store. Some people dine by a fireside hearth at their favorite restaurant.

I drove to a lamp store. Some people, you get my point.

Reading the headlines, I thought recently of those seeking refuge, of those on the social, economic, and political

margins.

I thought about how maybe America is a lamp shop, a place where people believe in light and

transformation, who believe becoming a part of its suburbs, revered institutions, and social rituals will allow them to be better

human beings. But as today's poem suggests, maybe sometimes we bring more to the table than we

know. And maybe the world around us could change its attitudes about us.

Divinity School by Ariana Rines

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