Talking to God was damned good business.

Jaguars, afterall, were fairly common, and so people were more respectful than afraid of them, just as they were of any other natural force.

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.

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!

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!

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

And also--to add to my problems--my parents and relatives kept telling me how they'd grown up feeling so close to the Almighty that they'd spoken to Him on a daily basis as one would speak to a friend and how, now and then, God had actually spoken back to them in the form of miracles.