So when you go to a place that you don't know at all
and they tell you you can go back by the highway
or you can go through the mountains, of course
you go through the mountains.
And then the road becomes a suggestion.
And you get to go around the long way,
but it's all right, because you've never been there so
everything's an adventure.
Somebody tell me how they can hang those cheeses in the heat
and they don't poison people.
Has anybody eaten the flowers of the Yucca plant?
I thought that was interesting.
They said they serve them with scrambled eggs.
But what you get for every meal or any snack
is an offer of Gallo pinto the black beans and rice.
Not knowing.
When we're in an unfamiliar place, we don't know,
and I think that's largely what makes art possible.
Donald Barthelme thought so too.
You have a chance to read it?
OK, we're good.
Liz says yes.
But being in an unknown place sharpens our focus,
lets us meet friends we wouldn't anywhere else.
It lets us see the textures of other cultures and ways
of knowing.
It changes how we perceive.
And it ultimately leads us back to mystery.
This one's called "Passion Flower."
Low over this narrow strand of land, between great oceans,
one named for peace, one name for Atlas,
who lifts the sky above the waters.
We're airborne, edging home, returning
changed to places we know better than to take for granted.
Over the sea named for Caribs nearly wiped out by disease,
we sip iced water.
Just hours ago, we gazed into the face of passion,
flowering this morning.
Pura vida, most alive on tenuous edges between hungry seas.
Witness this moment.
[AIRPLANE FLYING OVERHEAD]
I'll let it go.
Just hours ago, we gazed into the face of passion,
flowering this morning.
Pura vida, most alive on tenuous edges between hungry seas.
Witness this moment set off by our brief passage.
What came before, what comes after,
the verge ourselves alive, opening.
Thank you for sharing this time.
[APPLAUSE]