Every part of the Earth is sacred to my people.
Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clear and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people.
The sap which courses through the trees carries the memory and experience of my people.
This shining water that moves in streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors.
The waters murmur is the voice of my father's father.
Whatever befalls the Earth - befalls the sons of the Earth.
Man did not weave the web of life - he is merely a strand in it.
Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
Where is the thicket?
Gone.
Where is the Eagle?
Gone.
The end of living and the beginning of survival.
Chief Seattle
From "We may be brothers after all"
