“I’m not my name. My name is something I wear, like a shirt. It gets worn. I outgrow it, I change it.”

“Who are you?'I didn't understand the question.I'm Uri', he said. 'What's your name?'I gave him my name. 'Stopthief.”

“I am a mess. Like that MargieMocha, I am spilled across a floor, but there's nobody to mop me up. I have only one thing to show for the day: Perry Delloplane. The sound of a name. It is a grape in my mouth. I roll it over and over on my tongue--perrydelloplaneperrydelloplaneperrydelloplaneperrydelloplane--but when I try to crush it with my teeth, it slips away.”

“I’m erased. I’m gone. I’m nothing. And then the world is free to flow into me like water into an empty bowl…. And… I see. I hear. But not with eyes and ears. I’m not outside my world anymore, and I’m not really inside it either. The thing is, there’s no difference between me and the universe. The boundary is gone. I am it and it is me. I am a stone, a cactus thorn. I am rain. I like that most of all, being rain.”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “There’s no one answer to that. You have tofind your own way. Sometimes I try to erase myself. I imagine a bigpink soft soap eraser, and it’s going back and forth, back and forth,and it starts down at my toes, back and forth, back and forth, andthere they go-poof!-my toes are gone. And then my feet. And then myankles. But that’s the easy part. The hard part is erasing my senses-myeyes, my ears, my nose, my tongue. And last to go is my brain. Mythoughts, memories, all the voices inside my head. That’s the hardest,erasing my thoughts.” She chuckled faintly. “My pumpkin. And then, ifI’ve done a good job, I’m erased. I’m gone. I’m nothing. And then theworld is free to flow into me like water into an empty bowl.”

“Every name is real. That's the nature of names.”

“And each night in bed I thought of her as the moon came through my window. I could have lowered my shade to make it darker and easier to sleep, but I never did. In that moonlit hour, I acquired a sense of the otherness of things. I liked the feeling the moonlight gave me, as if it wasn't the opposite of day, but its underside, its private side, when the fabulous purred on my snow-white sheet like some dark cat come in from the desert.”