Also, as I lay there thinking of my vision, I could see it all again and feel the meaning with a part of me like a strange power glowing in my body; but when the part of me that talks would try to make words for the meaning, it would be like fog and get away from me.

It's in the darkness of men's eyes that they get lost.

The Holy Land is everywhere.

The song and the drumming were like this: Behold, a sacred voice is calling you; All over the sky a sacred voice is calling.

I was four years old then, and I think it must have been the next summer that I first heard the voices.

The life of an Indian is like the wings of the air. That is why you notice the hawk knows how to get his prey. The Indian is like that. The hawk swoops down on its prey, so does the Indian. In his lament he is like an animal. For instance, the coyote is sly, so is the Indian. The eagle is the same. That is why the Indian is always feathered up, he is a relative to the wings of the air.

And I saw that the sacred hoop of my people as one of many hoops that made one circle.