Finally, I just want to close with a poem from the book
Where Clouds Are Formed.
And this one, too, has to do with people
crossing and not knowing how to cross a desert.
And so it's a teaching book, a teaching poem.
So you might want to pay attention.
This is called Lost Prayers.
Passing below the sacred peak.
Here, prayer signified by rosary beads are futile.
Calling on the Virgin Mary is useless.
Instead, one must know the language of the land.
One must know the balance of the desert.
One must know how to pray so that all elements of nature
will fall into rhythm.
These are the kinds of prayers that will work.
Once uttered, the sacred mountains
respond with coolness, with gifts of wetness, and gifts
of civility, of climate.
Empty plastic bottles are collected
from the desert floor, replaced with ones filled with water.
In another location, blue flags are
raised in the desert signaling the location of water,
signaling a chance for survival.
Flags recognized by heat demented minds.
The O'odham roamed the desert with precarious steps,
keeping an eye on the horizon, moving, seemingly
becoming a part of the heat and the dryness of their landscape.
They walk knowing the heat and aridity of their namesake place,
never experiencing a mirage of running water,
swaying palms at a cooling oasis.
Never needing plastic bottles, flags to guide them to water
places.
They knew the trails leading to water.
They knew the natural water tanks,
always with names like Hodai Son Wo'o, "Rock Ponds."
These rock ponds later labeled as tinajas on the maps.
Labeled, the rock ponds offer no water sanctuary
for those crossing the desert unprepared.
Ironically, it may have been their distant ancestors
who put these water place names on the maps.
Instead, in the heat of the desert,
they rely on rosary beads and calling on the Virgin Mary.
Thank you very much.
[APPLAUSE]