And I thanked mi papa who'd always said to me that we, los Indios, the Indians, were like the weeds. That roses you had to water and giver fertilizer or they'd die. But weeds, indigenous plants, you gave them nada-nothing; hell you even poisoned them and put concrete over them, and those weeds would still break the concrete.

Talking to God was damned good business.

Could it be we stifle our children's genius by languaging them too quickly away from their hearts and into the straight and narrow confines of linear thinking?

Women have to be careful to not wear out their husbands on their honeymoons, or they get so weak that they can't go to work!

No, you are not to complain or question who you are, but instead, grow, reaching for the light that's inside you.

Oh, if only I could hurt with such misery once again, to feel the powers of love here inside my heart, the joys of heaven and the pains of hell!

And I thanked mi papa who'd always said to me that we, los Indios, the Indians, were like the weeds. That roses you had to water and giver fertilizer or they'd die. But weeds, indigenous plants, you gave them nada-nothing; hell you even poisoned them and put concrete over them, and those weeds would still break the concrete.