
Originally Posted by
MysticalGypsi
I can't help but reply to this from a Native American historical point of view.
This quote is from a Native American, Zitkala-Sa, circa 1902. It has been one of my favorite quotes for about ten years now. It is much longer than what I am going to paste here. In the beginning of this piece she gives a long account of being one with the Great Mystery and spending the day in somewhat of a meditative state. She arrives home to be confronted by a member of her tribe, who has been converted to Christianity.
"As our tribe is one large family, where every person is related to
all the others, he addressed me: --
"Cousin, I came from the morning church service to talk with
you."
"Yes," I said interrogatively, as he paused for some word from me.
Shifting uneasily about in the straight-backed chair he sat upon, he
began: "Every holy day (Sunday) I look about our little God's
house, and not seeing you there, I am disappointed. This is why I
come to-day. Cousin, as I watch you from afar, I see no
unbecoming behavior and hear only good reports of you, which all
the more burns me with the wish that you were a church member.
Cousin, I was taught long years ago by kind missionaries to read
the holy book. These godly men taught me also the folly of our old
beliefs.
"There is one God who gives reward or punishment to the race of
dead men. In the upper region the Christian dead are gathered in
unceasing song and prayer. In the deep pit below, the sinful ones
dance in torturing flames.
"Think upon these things, my cousin, and choose now to avoid the
after-doom of hell fire!" Then followed a long silence in which he
clasped tighter and unclasped again his interlocked fingers.
Brushing away from my eyes many like pictures, I offered midday
meal to the converted Indian sitting wordless and with downcast
face. No sooner had he risen from the table with "Cousin, I have
relished it," than the church bell rang.
Thither he hurried forth with his afternoon sermon. I watched him
as he hastened along, his eyes bent fast upon the dusty road till he
disappeared at the end of a quarter of a mile.
The little incident recalled to mind the copy of a missionary paper
brought to my notice a few days ago, in which a "Christian"
pugilist commented upon a recent article of mine, grossly
perverting the spirit of my pen. Still I would not forget that the
pale-faced missionary and the hoodooed aborigine are both God's
creatures, though small indeed their own conceptions of Infinite
Love. A wee child toddling in a wonder world, I prefer to their
dogma my excursions into the natural gardens where the voice of
the Great Spirit is heard in the twittering of birds, the rippling of
mighty waters, and the sweet breathing of flowers. If this is
Paganism, then at present, at least, I am a Pagan.
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