| There is an old American Indian with much to teach me, but no language to do it with. I build a box device. Thoughts he thinks can materialize from within it. I dig a pit to store his teachings in. I can bury them safely in it until I need them again. He sits to my left staring at the box. Out of emerges a tray table with a plastic pitcher of water on it. It settles to the bottom of the pit. I stare at it for a long while, then wake up. |