Moonflowers Blossom In The Sand Hills Before

He Made A Story For All Of Them, A Story To Give Them Strength. The Words Of The Story Poured Out Of His Mouth As If They Had Substance, Pebbles And Stone Extending To Hold The Corporal Up...knees From Buckling...hands From Letting Go Of The Blanket.

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.

Things Which Don't Shift And Grow Are Dead Things.

The American Public Has Difficulty Believing ... [that] Injustice Continues To Be Inflicted Upon Indian People Because Americans Assume That The Sympathy And Tolerance They Feel Toward Indians Is Somehow 'felt' Or Transferred To The Government Policy That Deals With Indians. This Is Not The Case.

Because If You Weren't Born White, You Were Forced To See Differences; Or If You Weren't Born What They Called Normal, Or If You Got Injured, Then You Were Left To Explore The World Of The Different.