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

Writing is mining.

That's what I tell students, or anyone that aspires to give expression to their lives.

It's probably why the Greek goddess of memory, Nemosene, is credited with inventing language.

So much of writing is digging into the past is going in further to find

words that shape our understanding of the irrational before we lose hold. That diving into the self

begins the process of what one transcendentalist philosopher calls meaning-making.

Poets do it, image by image, through powers of recall and memorable language.

They create bridges to overcome the inchoate fog of cosmic uncertainty where we constantly dwell.

But poets do more than name their personal histories and private emotions,

the raw material, so to speak, that put into play the web and layers of public histories,

shared mythologies, songs, and sundry knowledge.

Most people know if you stare into the face of Medusa, you'll turn into stone,

and only Perseus successfully overcame petrification.

Many people might recall that Calliope, the goddess of poetry, is the daughter of Nemosin.

And those over 65 have heard of the poet Kendrick Lamar.

Poets take these stories and personages as their sources and present new avenues to understand

our seemingly impenetrable world.

I enjoy today's poem for its quality of total recall,

for how it powerfully fills in the gaps to give us the sensation of an ongoing conversation with the past.

Grinning in Sardinia by Tomas Q. Maureen.

On dirt-packed roads that thinned and fell apart like breath in winter, we sputtered along

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