CHAPTER 1: ILLUMINATION - from Leaves of Elvis' Garden

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As the azure blue sky begins to fade one late afternoon in 1965, the Dodge motor home winds its way along Route 66 through the Arizona desert, approaching the sacred mountains of the Hopi.

Although it appears to be no different than the millions of other vehicles that traverse the country every year, this Dodge is unique: Elvis Presley is at the wheel. I’m riding shotgun; Jerry Schilling, Red West, and Billy Smith are sitting behind us talking.

As Elvis and I drink in the beauty of the luminescent sky, a lone cloud appears above us on the horizon, seemingly out of nowhere. Elvis blurts out “Whoa!” as he sits straight up, tightening his grip on the wheel.

I follow his gaze to the solitary white cloud suspended in the sky.

“Do you see what I see?” Elvis asks excitedly. “That’s Joseph Stalin’s face up there!”

Hard to believe, but it’s there; the unmistakable image of Stalin is in that cloud. Anyone could recognize that face, that moustache.

“Why Stalin? Why Stalin?” Elvis asks, gazing at the face, his voice barely audible. “Of all people, what’s his face doin’ up there?”

My gaze turns back to the sky and, before I can answer, the features of Stalin’s face begin to gradually fade and dissolve into a cloud no different than any other.

I know that something remarkable is happening as I turn to Elvis and see that he is still staring at the cloud, lost in the experience. Suddenly, the expression on his face becomes radiant; his eyes glow with the reflection of wonder. I look back up at the curled white mass, but see only a cloud.

Then with one twist of the wheel, Elvis swings the vehicle over to the roadside to a screeching halt.

“Just follow me, Larry!” he says in a breaking voice as he darts out of the door. We stand facing one another in the gathering desert shadows. Elvis’ face is glowing from within, as I’ve never seen before.

He throws his arms around me, tightening into a bear hug, then releases his grip and stands back. “It’s God!” he cries. “It’s God! It’s love. God is love, Larry. God is in me, in you, he’s in everyone.”

His tear-streaked face beaming, Elvis embraces me once again. “I love you, I love you. Oh, God is real. It’s all true. I’m filled with divine love. I’ve finally seen what you were tryin’ to tell me, and you were right, and so are all those books. It’s beyond words and beyond the ego. Now I know, now I know. God loves me; God is love itself. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You got me here. I’ll never forget, man, never.”

I’m confused; certainly nothing I saw in the sky would bring this passionate response. “Elvis, I don’t get it; I saw the face of Stalin in the cloud just like you did. No question it was his face, but then it changed back into a fluffy cloud again, and his face was gone. I know something happened to you; what was it? What did you see up there?”

Elvis’ words tumble out. “Larry, when I saw that face of Stalin up there, I thought to myself, why Stalin? He was one of most evil men who ever lived. Is it a projection of something that’s inside of me? Is God tryin’ to show me what He thinks of me? Then your words about surrendering and getting rid of the ego and all kept playin’ around in my head, and I cried out to God, ‘Is that really me? All I want is to know the truth and to experience You. Please, God, show me the way, fill me with Yourself. Destroy me, if that’s what it takes.’

“And then it happened! It exploded inside me. The face of Stalin turned right into the face of Jesus, and he smiled at me, piercing my heart and every fiber of my being with his light. For the first time in my life, I know the truth. I’ll never have to doubt again. God and Christ are a living reality.”

Elvis pauses; then, with a self-conscious grin, “Can you imagine what the fans would think if they saw me like this?”

“Elvis, they’d only love you all the more.”

“Yeah? Well, I hope that’s true.”

Red West leans out of the vehicle, shouting, “Hey boss! Are you all right?”

“I’m OK,” Elvis shouts back in a hoarse voice. “I’m OK!”

“Oh, man.” Elvis slowly shakes his head. “How could anyone really understand all this if they never experienced something like this for themselves? I mean, a vision when Almighty God touches and reveals Himself. I just saw the Christ and the Antichrist!”

Elvis and I walk in silence back to the vehicle.

It’s obvious to me that he’s torn between exhilaration and dread. He just experienced one of the defining moments of his life, yet he knows how others would likely view this. What just took place out here in the desert would be one more thing for everyone around him to laugh about behind his back. He’s drained and exhausted, physically and emotionally.

Entering the motor home, Elvis fights to maintain his composure. He’s too disoriented to drive and asks Red to take the wheel. Everyone keeps staring at Elvis and he’s keenly aware what is on their minds. “Don’t you guys worry about me. I’ve never been better, that’s for sure.”

Elvis motions me to follow him to the bedroom in the back of the vehicle, where we sit in an awkward silence. Night falls as we make our way up the mountain toward Flagstaff.

Each of us turns within to absorb what just occurred. It suddenly hits me that it was on this same Route 66, on the other side of the mountain, that I had my own spiritual awakening, an experience that changed me forever. How is it even possible? Would anyone believe such a “coincidence”? It’s so implausible that I feel awkward telling Elvis about it.

It was almost exactly five years ago, approaching Flagstaff from the opposite direction on this same road, also at sunset. Like Elvis, I was yearning to have a personal experience in my quest for the divine. Do we have an immortal soul? Why are we here? Do we survive death? I wanted answers, something, anything to quench my insatiable thirst.
I was driving alone, lost in my thoughts. The darkening sky cast a magical kaleidoscope of colors across the desert. A towering cloud rose above the horizon, forming a white pillar. Around its edges, little wisps of white began to detach themselves.

I knew that in some Native American tribal beliefs, a person’s soul becomes a cloud when he dies, and there is an ancient woman called Cloud Gatherer who watches over these departed souls.

I pulled over, enthralled by the grandeur of this sight. A silent prayer, a plea, a self-perpetuating mantra rose up from deep within me seemingly of its own volition. Then, in a way I never could have imagined, the answer came. I looked up as a brilliant streak of light shot forth from the heart of the cloud, radiating every atom and cell of my body. Instantly I was consumed, infused with an indescribable energy: brilliance beyond light, an infinite living Presence; Intelligence beyond knowing that is Knowing itself; unconditional love and beauty, its nature unfathomable and endless. This was ecstasy beyond anything I had ever experienced or dreamed of. I knew beyond a doubt at that moment that all life is a miracle, every moment is sacred, and that our very existence is God’s remarkable gift of grace.

Although it’s impossible to prove that God is the sole essence, the One Source of the energy of life, it can be verified in the subjective state called enlightenment. Truth can only be established when our minds are silent, free from all concepts and preconceived ideas. When the mind is free from all its fictions, it is the natural intelligence that opens the way to the understanding of life. Now I didn’t have to believe any more—now I knew.

“Good God,” Elvis says, after I share the story of my own spiritual experience with him. He looks toward the guys in the front of the bus. “I suppose they’d call this a coincidence or something. But how can you possibly explain this? How is it even remotely possible that we both had our first spiritual initiation from God on the very same road and on the exact same mountain? This goes way beyond, and much deeper than we’re both probably aware of. We’d better keep this to ourselves, ‘cause they’d try putting us both away if we tried to explain this one.”

We had left the tranquility of Graceland a few days earlier when Elvis reluctantly resigned himself to returning to Hollywood to begin production on Frankie and Johnny. His typical procrastination and invented excuses to stay longer in Memphis had delayed us so long that our schedule didn’t allow for stops for anything but gas and fast food during the eighteen-hundred-mile trip. As usual, the rest of the entourage followed the Dodge motor home in a caravan of cars; but that day, for the first time, they had become separated from us. In so many ways, this particular trip was unlike any other of the more than three dozen Elvis made over the years.

As we approach Elvis’ Bel-Air home the next afternoon, we’re greeted by the others.

“Where the hell’ve you been?”

“Oh, we’re fine, fine,” Elvis answers. “Everything’s all right. Why don’t y’all get some rest and I’ll see ya in a few days. Larry, come with me, we gotta talk.”

“Elvis, what the—”

Elvis doesn’t respond, unconcerned by the others’ bewilderment.

As I follow Elvis into the den, he motions to me to close the wooden louvered doors. Of course, you still can hear everything anyone in the den says, and I know that’s exactly what the guys will do. So does Elvis, and he obviously doesn’t care.

“Sit down Larry, we’ve got to talk.” Pacing back and forth, he looks squarely in my eyes. “All right, that’s it, man.” Although he looks worn and shaken, his voice is firm.

“I’m not making another fucking film again. I’m not; I can’t. How can I make a teenybopper movie now? I can’t do this. I can’t do it anymore. I know the difference. I know now; I know.” His voice takes on a contemptuous tone. “I mean, what the hell purpose is there in movies like Girls, Girls, Girls or Girl Happy or Tickle Me and all the others? All they do is change my name and throw in a few new sets; it’s just the same ol’ flick. Man, they’re downright embarrassing, and so’s the music they make me sing. I want out! I need to have some purpose in my life and in my work!”

I can’t believe my ears. I feel a cold sweat coming on. There’s no doubt that this will fall directly on my head.

Elvis has been thrown off-balance, not only because he had such a powerful spiritual experience, but also because for once something unplanned has taken him by surprise. Such things don’t happen too often in his controlled and managed world. He’s operating on a volatile mixture of an emotional high and physical fatigue.

“Elvis, Elvis,” I say, “you have to understand that you’ve been given a talent that’s unprecedented, your voice is a gift from God. You have more fans than anyone who ever lived. They look to you, Elvis. They love you. They’ll listen to you. You and your music represent life and hope to millions of people. Would you deprive them of it?”

“Larry, I wouldn’t deprive nobody anything, but I have to live my own life. Look, man, there’s been a lot of people making a helluva lot of money off me for a long time. Hey, I admit it; it’s my own damn fault, allowing them to package me in all those dumb-ass ridiculous movies. Hey don’t get me wrong. I made a lot of money off those movies, but I’m not in this just for the money alone. And I’ve been believing them for a long time now when they keep tellin’ me that they’ll find a dramatic role for me so that I can finally act in a real movie. Now, I’m gonna take charge of my own damn future, and do something important with my life.”

“Elvis, you can do anything you want. You can make meaningful films, you can sing meaningful music. You can truly be your own man. You don’t have to be swayed by other people; you can be as independent as you want.”

It’s obvious he knows I’m referring to his management. Elvis allows this to kick around for a while. Then his next remark stuns me. With great seriousness and resolve he declares, “Larry, I’m not making another move unless you tell me what to do.”

I can only imagine the look on my face as he goes on. “I know you’re going to tell me the truth. I want to listen to what you have to say. I’m going on your advice, and I’m going to do what you tell me to do and no one else.”

His voice, raised in excitement at times, has obviously carried into the outer room. From the rustling and whispers outside the door, it’s apparent the guys are astonished at what they’re hearing. Elvis steps closer to the door, intentionally speaking louder. “Don’t pay attention to them, Larry. Let them go and report this to Colonel Parker; I don’t care. This is my ballgame, it’s my life.”

Elvis looks squarely at me, his face animated and determined. “I have to do something really important now. This is serious.” He draws a deep breath. “Larry, I want you to find me a monastery. I want to be a monk. I want to serve God.”

These are the last words I ever expected to hear from Elvis Presley. How can he think of leaving his music, his family, Priscilla, his friends, and his fans? This man has the greatest career in the history of show business. I have to think fast.

“Elvis, it isn’t as simple as you might think. You just had the experience of your life, and it’s a wonderful experience; it’s good. There are many things to learn from it, and it might take years for its meaning to unfold. The main thing is that your prayers were answered in the desert yesterday. You were shown something, and that something is not to hide yourself away from the world in a monastery. Those monks who spend their lives there are trying to find God; you’ve already found Him. And He’s found you. You’re way ahead.”

Elvis looks baffled for a moment.

“Remember, you’re Elvis Presley. You have a responsibility to the world. They need you, and you need them. It’s not going to work for you to be secluded away from the world in some mountain retreat. Now you can do all the things you’ve been talking about lately, and in a conscious, wonderful way.”

I can tell that I’m finally getting through to him.

“And what about the guys you say you care for? What would happen to them? What about your fans? What are you going to tell them? Elvis, what about Priscilla? You just said you’re going to listen to me. OK then, it’s very simple. Get some rest. You’re exhausted, drained from the trip; you need to sleep and recharge your batteries. Once you’re refreshed, you’ll have a brand-new perspective about all this, you’ll see. Get some rest, and then we’ll talk about it.”

After a moment of silent reflection, Elvis smiles faintly. “You’re right, you’re right.” Then with a flash of his old whimsy, “You still have your job, Larry. You have nothing to worry about. You know,” he adds with a sheepish grin, “I can’t really picture Priscilla raking leaves with me in some ol’ monastery garden anyway.”

He retreats alone to his bedroom, gearing himself up to report to MGM Studios to begin production on his next picture—and, no doubt, anticipating a call from Colonel Parker.