《這片土地是神圣的》原文及相關資料

all sacred
the rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst. the rivers carry our canoes, and feed our children. if we sell you our land, you must remember, and teach your children, that the rivers are our brothers, and yours, and you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness you would give any brother. we know that the white man does not understand our ways. one portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs.
the earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. he leaves his father's graves behind, and he does not care. he kidnaps the earth from his children, and he does not care. his father's grave, and his children's birthright, are forgotten. he treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads. his appetite will devour the earth and leave behind only a desert.
i do not know. our ways are different from your ways. the sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man. but perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand.
there is no quiet place in the white man's cities. no place to hear the unfurling of leaves in spring, or the rustle of an insect's wings. but perhaps it is is because i am a savage and do not understand.
the clatter only seems rto insult the ears. and what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around a pond at night? i am a red man and do not understand. the indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of a pond, and the smell of the wind itself, cleaned by a midday rain, or scented with the pinon pine.
precious
the air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man, they all share the same breath..
the white man does not seem to notice, the air he breathes. like a man dying for many days, he is numb to the stench.
but if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports. the wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh. and if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where even the white man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow's flowers.
one condition
so we will consider your offer to buy our land. if we decide to accept, i will make one condition: the white man must treat the beasts of this land as his brothers. i am a savage and i do not understand any other way. i have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. i am a savage and i do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive. what is man without the beasts? if all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of spirit. for whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. all things are connected.