All things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man... the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.
Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors - the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people.
There is no death, only a change of worlds.
To us, the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place is hallowed ground.
When the Earth is sick, the animals will begin to disappear, when that happens, The Warriors of the Rainbow will come to save them.
The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of the pond, the smell of the wind itself cleansed by a midday rain, or scented with pinon pine. The air is precious to the red man, for all things are the same breath - the animals, the trees, the man.
Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only change of worlds.
The whites, too, shall pass - perhaps sooner than other tribes. Continue to contaminate your own bed, and you might suffocate in your own waste.
All things are connected. Whatever befalls the Earth, befalls the children of the Earth.
We do not own the freshness of the air or the sparkle of the water. How can you buy them from us?
All things are bound together. All things connect.
Tribe follows tribe, nations follow nations like the tides of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless.
Your religion was written on tablets of stone, ours on our hearts. 8. We are part of the earth and the earth is part of us.
Every part of the earth is sacred to my people.