In The Beginning Was The Word, And

The Highest Human Purpose Is Always To Reinvent And Celebrate The Sacred.

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.

Indians Are Marvelous Storytellers. In Some Ways, That Oral Tradition Is Stronger Than The Written Tradition.

There Was Only The Dark Infinity In Which Nothing Was. And Something Happened. At The Distance Of A Star Something Happened, And Everything Began. The Word Did Not Come Into Being, But It Was. It Did Not Break Upon The Silence, But It Was Older Than The Silence And The Silence Was Made Of It.

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.