My Mountain Is Dead. As Soon As

The Sun Enriched The Old Poles Grandly... The Mothers Expressed All Womanhood - The Big Wooden Hands Holding The Child Were So Full Of Tenderness They Had To Be Distorted Enormously In Order To Contain It All. Womanhood Was Strong In Kitwancool.

The Outstanding Event Was The Doing Which I Am Still At. Don't Pickle Me Awayas Done.

I Can Rise Above The Humility Of My Failure With An Intense Desire To Search Deeper And A Blind Faith That Some Day My Sight May Pierce Through The Veils That Hide. I Know God's Face Is There If I Keep My Gaze Steady Enough.

Indian Art Broadened My Seeing, Loosened The Formal Tightness I Had Learned In England's Schools. Its Bigness And Stark Reality Baffled My White Man's Understanding... I Had Been Schooled To See Outsides Only, Not Struggle To Pierce.

When You Really Think About Your Hand You Begin To Realize Its Connection, To Sense The Hum Of Your Own Being Passing Through It. When We Look At A Piece Of The Universe We Should Feel The Same.