You Don't Have Anything If You Don't

Distances And Days Existed In Themselves Then; They All Had A Story. They Were Not Barriers. If A Person Wanted To Get To The Moon, There Is A Way; It All Depended On Whether You Knew The Directions, On Whether You Knew The Story Of How Others Before You Had Gone. He Had Believed In The Stories For A Long Time, Until The Teachers At Indian School Taught Him Not To Believe In That Kind Of "nonsense". But They Had Been Wrong.

For A Long Time He Had Been White Smoke. He Did Not Realize That Until He Left The Hospital, Because White Smoke Had No Consciousness Of Itself. It Faded Into The White World Of Their Bed Sheets And Walls; It Was Sucked Away By The Words Of Doctors Who Tried To Talk To The Invisible Scattered Smoke... They Saw His Outline But They Did Not Realize It Was Hollow Inside.

But Sometimes What We Call 'memory' And What We Call 'imagination' Are Not So Easily Distinguished.

Night. Heavenly Delicious Sweet Night Of The Desert That Calls All Of Us To Love Her. The Night Is Our Comfort With Her Coolness And Darkness. On Wings, On Feet, On Our Bellies, Out We All Come To Glory In The Night.

The Ancient People Perceived The World And Themselves Within That World As Part Of An Ancient Continuous Story Composed Of Innumerable Bundles Of Other Stories.