Moonflowers Blossom In The Sand

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.

Relationships. That's All There Really Is. There's Your Relationship With The Dust That Just Blew In Your Face, Or With The Person Who Just Kicked You End Over End. ... You Have To Come To Terms, To Some Kind Of Equilibrium, With Those People Around You, Those People Who Care For You, Your Environment.

But Sometimes What We Call 'memory' And What We Call 'imagination' Are Not So Easily Distinguished.

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.

For A Long Time He Had Been White Smoke. He Did Not Realize That Until He Left The Hospital, Because White Smoke Had No Consciousness Of Itself. It Faded Into The White World Of Their Bed Sheets And Walls; It Was Sucked Away By The Words Of Doctors Who Tried To Talk To The Invisible Scattered Smoke... They Saw His Outline But They Did Not Realize It Was Hollow Inside.