For The Storyteller, For The Arrowmaker, Language

Coyotes Have The Gift Of Seldom Being Seen; They Keep To The Edge Of Vision And Beyond, Loping In And Out Of Cover On The Plains And Highlands. And At Night, When The Whole World Belongs To Them, They Parley At The River With The Dogs, Their Higher, Sharper Voices Full Of Authority And Rebuke. They Are An Old Council Of Clowns, And They Are Listened To.

If You Believe In The Power Of Words, You Can Bring About Physical Changes In The Universe.

I Sometimes Think The Contemporary White American Is More Culturally Deprived Than The Indian.

To Encounter The Sacred Is To Be Alive At The Deepest Center Of Human Existence. Sacred Places Are The Truest Definitions Of The Earth; They Stand For The Earth Immediately And Forever; They Are Its Flags And Shields. If You Would Know The Earth For What It Really Is, Learn It Through Its Sacred Places. At Devil’s Tower Or Canyon De Chelly Or The Cahokia Mounds, You Touch The Pulse Of The Living Planet; You Feel Its Breath Upon You. You Become One With A Spirit That Pervades Geologic Time And Space.

Words Were Medicine; They Were Magic And Invisible. They Came From Nothing Into Sound And Meaning. They Were Beyond Price; They Could Neither Be Bought Nor Sold.