I went to a thing once at a church in--
I think it was Saint John the Divine in New York,
and I was part of a program which was
called In Search of the Soul.
And I thought it was redundant that I should go,
but I went anyway.
And it was so interesting, most of the audience
were clerics of some kind.
Nuns, perhaps?
I'm not Catholic that I hang around with a lot of nuns.
The people in the back, the clergy,
began saying that they couldn't hear, and see I kept thinking
about be still and know that I'm God.
And so I suggested that they listen harder.
They wanted me to do something harder.
No, listen harder.
So if you can't hear me, try to listen hard,
and this thing is on.
And I tell people I have earned the right to sit.
OK?
You can see my legs aren't very good.
A lot of my stuff isn't as good as it used to be.
I'm still here.
I've read in Tucson.
Two of my dearest friends in the whole world are here.
I think Richard Shelton is one of the great poets writing,
and Lois is one of the great persons being around,
hanging out.
And I'd like to first start with a poem
that I wrote when I first came here.
When I first came to Tucson I went on a hayride in a truck.
I had heard about white people having hay rides,
and since I like to experience things
I wanted to experience that.
And I tasted my first Coors beer.
High point.
Richard did it for me, sir.
Lord.
And it was a high point in my life.
They weren't selling Coors in the East at that time.
So that's how long ago it was.
It changed my whole idea of deserts.
I love the Sonora, and I felt--
this is really true--
I felt that if I kept walking I would know where I was going.
You ever felt that someplace?
If I just kept walking.
I would understand where I was walking to.
I'd never had that feeling before.
Now, can everybody sort of hear?
That's good.
This is a poem called "The Sonora Desert Poem".
And I've never read it in front of them,
so I thought, well, they're going to hate this.
And then what will I do?
I'll just try to get over it.
"Sonora Desert Poem" for Lois and Richard Shelton.
One.
The ones who live in the desert, if you knew them you
would understand everything.
They see it all and never judge any, just drink of water
when they get the chance.
If I could grow arms on my scars like them,
if I could learn the patience they know,
I wouldn't apologize for my thorns
either, just stand in the desert and witness.
Two, directions for watching the sun set in the desert.
Come to the landscape that was hidden under the sea.
Look in the opposite direction.
Reach for the mountain.
The mountain will ignore your hand.
The sun will fall on your back.
The landscape will fade away.
You will think you're alone until a flash
of green, incredible light.
Three, directions for leaving the desert.
Push the bones back under your skin.
Finish the water.
They will notice your thorns and ask you to testify.
Turn toward the shade.
Smile.
Say nothing at all.
Do you remember that time when we were there?
There was green light.
I've never seen anything like it.