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

Ten years ago, I began reciting a daily poem to myself as a form of devotion.

I was tired of living thoughtlessly or pinging from one urgent matter to the next.

Morning recitation centered the rest of my day.

They may be more aware of how I communicate to others and how I behave.

Well, most of the time.

Given our capacity to harm and the world's capacity to violence,

reading poems out loud helps me to co-create an existence where a peaceable kingdom is achievable on earth.

For me, the power of poetry and the power of secular prayer are interchangeable.

I am channeled in my belief that something greater looms and that I am capable of interacting with it.

I am pushed past my poetry ego.

The poem serves as an intermediary where I speak into a threshold of silence that separates me from the divine.

In the hands of mystic poets, reading a poem sometimes sounds like an urgent and treaty or plea to the unknown.

Throughout the day, words and phrases float to me as I am crossing a street or entering an elevator or lifting ahead of lettuce to inspect in a grocery store.

The poem primes my mind to enjoy the world around me and to see with great clarity.

Then, there are those days I am brought to my knees.

I seek out the consolation artful words grant.

I long for the revelations that are sometimes evident in a quotable line or am humbled by the grace and perspective verse provides.

Poetry is my armor.

Today's poem follows a long tradition of devotional poetry.

In such poems, often a speaker asks for intervention, relief, and renewal.

It is a human call out into the empty amensity of the universe.

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