Thoughts of Mother Earth

Still reading my 'Native American Wisdom' book- lovin' it! Always intrigued by NA culture. I attended two friendship fires, have danced around the big fire with the natives of this land and traded friendship trinkets. I've listened to their stories, eaten the fry bread and ridden across the deserts of New Mexico at break-neck speeds on their Mustangs. It was a Native American who told me I could ride my horse through a herd of grazing deer while sitting straight & still in the saddle. The scent of the horse mingled with my scent and I passed unnoticed through the middle of a herd in the wilds of Northern Idaho- just as he said I would. Awesome!

Faith in God should expand, not narrow our points of view. The older I get, the more I understand the greatness of God, and feel connection with my fellow man and the earth around me. It is disturbing to see a lack of concern on the part of believers- not only for each other, but for conservation of our resources. God is our Father, and I agree with the Native view that earth is like our mother. God formed man from the dust of the earth. We were taken from her and fashioned into something that is functional and spiritual. She offers us food and shelter. When we die, our bodies decay, returning to oneness with her. In recent centuries, humanity has shown greed and disrespect for the earth. I've seen enough tree-stripping, chemical spraying and have done enough time on trash patrol along the highways to know this. I am inspired and touched by the wisdom I find in this little book regarding the earth. Here's a quote from a Native Chief who was also a Believer:

"Every part of all this soil is sacred to my people. Every hillside, every valley, plain and grove has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. The very dust you now stand on responds more willingly to our footsteps than to yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors and our bare feet walk softly upon her, conscious of the sympathetic touch.... A few more hours, a few more winters, and none of the children of the great tribes that once lived upon the earth, or that roamed in small bands in the woods, will be left to mourn the graves of a people once as powerful and hopeful as yours.

The whites, too, shall pass-- perhaps sooner than other tribes, Continue to contaminate your own bed, and you will one night suffocate in your own waste.
When the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses all tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of men, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking wires, where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone.

And what is left to say farewell to the swift men and the hunt? When is the end of living and the beginning of survival? We might understand if we knew what it was that the white man dreams, what he describes to his children on the long winter nights. What visions does he burn into their minds so they will wish for tomorrow? But we are called savages. The white man's dreams are hidden from us." - Chief Seattle of the Suqwamish and Duwamish (1786-1866)