I Will Not Dwell On, Nor Mourn

Humankind Has Not Woven The Web Of Life. We Are But One Thread Within It. Whatever We Do To The Web, We Do To Ourselves. All Things Are Bound Together. All Things Connect.

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.

We Are A Part Of The Earth And It Is Part Of Us.

There Is No Such Place As Away.

. . . The Deer, The Horse, The Great Eagle, These Are Our Brothers. The Rocky Crests, The Juices In The Meadows, The Body Heat Of The Pony And Man - All Belong To The Same Family. . . . The White Man Must Treat The Beasts Of This Land As His Brothers.