There was something about the way the old man said "comfortable." It had a different meaning -- not the comfort of big houses or rich food or even clean streets, but the comfort of belonging with the land, and the peace of being with these hills.
Not of belonging "to" the land, but belonging with it.
I don't have enough knowledge or experience of Native American thought, but I'm finding the hopscotching of the sequence of events very organic and natural, more the way *I* think than most people write. The chronology is not linear, nor is it even circular. It's back and forth in memory and events, dancing around feelings.
Tayo's PTSD doesn't respond to white men's medicine, so he's trying more traditional methods. But he's still not sure if anything will work, because he's not sure which world he belongs in, which world will have him.