To Look Upon That Landscape In The

I Wonder If, In The Dark Night Of The Sea, The Octopus Dreams Of Me.

For The Storyteller, For The Arrowmaker, Language Does Indeed Represent The Only Chance For Survival.

In The Beginning Was The Word, And It Was Spoken.

My Father Was A Painter And He Taught Art. He Once Said To Me, 'i Never Knew An Indian Child Who Could Not Draw.'

Writing Engenders In Us Certain Attitudes Toward Language. It Encourages Us To Take Words For Granted. Writing Has Enabled Us To Store Vast Quantities Of Words Indefinitely. This Is Advantageous On The One Hand But Dangerous On The Other. The Result Is That We Have Developed A Kind Of False Security Where Language Is Concerned, And Our Sensitivity To Language Has Deteriorated. And We Have Become In Proportion Insensitive To Silence.