In 1854 the president of the United States sought to buy the land to an Indian tribe, but the chief seattle responded with a letter in which he also revealed his love for land, environment and life, its philosophical, poetic quality, and above all, his ability to foretell the ecological disasters that cause the white man.
A century later his words are turning on the emotion in those who have not resigned themselves to collective suicide vigorously pursued with dreadful human species, encourage those who still hope for a better life. Let us listen with deep respect and open the doors of the soul to a message that it is so necessary.
LETTER FROM CHIEF SEATTLE
How can you buy or sell the sky, even the heat of the earth? This idea is unknown to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water How can you buy?. Every part of this land is sacred to my people. Every shining pine bush, every grain of sand on the shore, every mist in the dark woods, every hill and to the sound of each insect is holy in the memory and the past of my people. the sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the Reds.
The white man's dead forget the country of origin when they understand his walks among the stars, but instead our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother of the red. We are part of the land and it is also part of us. perfumed flowers are our sisters, the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. the steep cliffs, the wet meadows, the body heat of the horse and man, all belong to the same family.
For mud that, when the Great Chief in Washington sends us el mensaje de que quiere comprar nuestras tierras, nos está pidiendo demasiado. También el gran Jefe nos dice que nos reservará un lugar en el que podamos vivir confortablemente entre nosotros. El se convertirá en nuestro padre y nosotros en sus hijos. Por ella consideramos su oferta de comprar nuestras tierras. Ello no es fácil, ya que esta tierra es sagrada para nosotros.
El agua cristalina que corre por ríos y arroyuelos no es solamente agua, sino que también representa la sangre de nuestros antepasados: Si les vendemos la tierra, deben recordar que es sagrada, y a la vez enseñar a sus hijos que es sagrada y que cada reflejo fantasmagórico en las claras aguas de los lagos cuenta los sucesos y memorias de la vida de our people. The murmur of the water fall is the voice of my father's father. The rivers are our brothers they quench our thirst, they carry our canoes and feed our children.
If we sell you our land, you must remember and teach their children that the rivers are our brothers and so are his, and therefore they should be treated with the same gentleness with which you treat a brother.
know that the white man does not understand our way of life. He does not know the difference between a piece of land and another, since it 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 once again conquer moves on, leaving the tomb their parents not caring. They kidnapped the land to their children. Does not care. Both his parents' grave as the heritage of their children are forgotten, treats his mother the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to be bought, operated and sold like sheep or beads. His appetite will devour the earth, leaving behind only a desert. There is no quiet place in the white man's cities, and no place to hear how open the leaves of the trees in the spring or how insects flutter.
But perhaps this must be because I am a savage who does not understand. The noise only seems to insult the ears. And after all. What is the life if a man can not hear the lonely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the night frogs around a pond?. I am a red man and do not understand. We prefer the soft whisper of wind on the surface of a pond and the smell of the wind itself, cleansed by the midday rain, or scented with pine aromas.
The air is precious to the red and that all beings share the same breath, the beast, the tree, man, we all breathe the same air. The white man does not seem aware of the air you breathe, like a dying man dying for many days is numb to the stench. But if we sell our lands should remember that the air is invaluable to us, that the air shares its spirit with the life it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather's first breath of life, also receives his last sigh. And if we sell you our land, you should keep them as something apart and sacred as a place where even the white man can taste the wind scented flowers of the prairies.
therefore consider its offer to buy our land. If we decide to accept, I will put a condition: The white man must treat animals in this land as his brothers.
I am a savage and do not understand other lifestyle. I've seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairies, shot by a man from a train. I am a wild and do not understand how a smoking machine can matter more than the buffalo that we kill only to survive. What would the man without the beasts?. If all were exterminated, the man would die from great loneliness of spirit. Because what happens to animals will also happen to man. All things are connected.
should teach their children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of our grandfathers. inculcate their children that the earth is enriched with the life of our neighbors so they know to respect it. Teach your children what we have taught our children that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth will happen the children of the earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves. This we know: the earth does not belong to man, man belongs to earth. This we know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons they land. Man did not weave the web of life, he's just a thread. Whatever he does to the web, he does himself.
Even the white man, whose God walks and talks with him as friend to friend, is exempt from the common destiny. After all, you might be brothers. We'll see. We know one thing the white man may one day discover: our God is the same God. You may think He now belongs to them, just wanting to own our land, but it is not. He is the God of men and his compassion is shared equally between the red and the white man. This earth is precious to Him, and if damaged would cause the wrath of the Creator. Whites also be extinguished, perhaps sooner than other tribes. Contaminate your bed and a night perish drowned in their own waste.
But you walk towards its destruction in glory, inspired by the power of God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave dominion over it and on the red. That destiny is a mystery to us, because we do not understand why they exterminated the buffalo, wild horses are tame, clip the secret corners of the forest with the encouragement of so many men and stuffs the landscape of lush hills with speaker cables. Where is the thicket? Destroyed. Where is the eagle? Disappeared. Life ends and begins survival.
0 comments:
Post a Comment