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02-08-2017, 02:43 PM
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#11 |
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Senior Member
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Shotgun Rider 
Join Date: Nov 2009
Location: Following the red road
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We live, we die, and like the grass and trees, renew ourselves from the soft earth of the grave. Stones crumble and decay, faiths grow old and they are forgotten, but new beliefs are born. The faith of the villages is dust now... but it will grow again... like the trees.
- Chief Joseph, Nez Perce (1840-1904)
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“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart.
It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.” Judy Garland |
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| american indian, native american, spirituality |
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