Sometimes Dreams Are Wiser Than Waking.

The Life Of An Indian Is Like The Wings Of The Air. That Is Why You Notice The Hawk Knows How To Get His Prey. The Indian Is Like That. The Hawk Swoops Down On Its Prey, So Does The Indian. In His Lament He Is Like An Animal. For Instance, The Coyote Is Sly, So Is The Indian. The Eagle Is The Same. That Is Why The Indian Is Always Feathered Up, He Is A Relative To The Wings Of The Air.

It Is Good To Have A Reminder Of Death Before Us, For It Helps Us To Understand The Impermanence Of Life On This Earth, And This Understanding May Aid Us In Preparing For Our Own Death. He Who Is Well Prepared Is He Who Knows That He Is Nothing Compared With Wakan-tanka, Who Is Everything; Then He Knows That World Which Is Real.

When I Got Back To My Father And Mother And Was Sitting Up There In Our Tepee, My Face Was Still All Puffed And My Legs And Arms Were Badly Swollen; But I Felt Good All Over And Wanted To Get Right Up And Run Around.

It May Be That Some Little Root Of The Sacred Tree Still Lives. Nourish It Then, That It May Leaf And Bloom And Fill With Singing Birds.

I Was Four Years Old Then, And I Think It Must Have Been The Next Summer That I First Heard The Voices.