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The Great Spirit · Native American Stories by Zitkala-Sa

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  Speaker 1: Section four of American Indian Stories. This is the LibriVox recording.
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  Speaker 1: All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
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  Speaker 1: information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. American
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  Speaker 1: Indian Stories by Zitkalasha The Great Spirit. When the spirit
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  Speaker 1: swells my breast, I love to roam leisurely among the
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  Speaker 1: green hills, or sometimes sitting on the brink of the
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  Speaker 1: murmuring Missouri, I marvel at the great blue overhead with
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  Speaker 1: half closed eyes. I watch the huge cloud shadows in
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  Speaker 1: their noiseless play upon the high bluffs opposite me. But
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  Speaker 1: in my year ripple the sweet soft cadences of the river. Song.
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  Speaker 1: Folded hands line my lap for the time forgot mahar
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  Speaker 1: and I lie small upon the earth like a grain
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  Speaker 1: of throbbing sand, drifting clouds in tinkling waters, together with
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  Speaker 1: the warmth of a genial summer day, to speak with
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  Speaker 1: eloquence the loving mystery round about us. During the idle
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  Speaker 1: while I sat upon the sunny river brink, I grew
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  Speaker 1: somewhat the marous ponds be not so clearly manifest as
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  Speaker 1: in the green grass fringing the edge of the high bluff,
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  Speaker 1: back of me at length, retracing the uncertain footpaths, cutting
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  Speaker 1: the precipilous embankment. I seek the level lands where grow
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  Speaker 1: the wild prairie flowers. And they, the lovely little folk,
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  Speaker 1: soothe my soul with their perfume breath. Their quaint round
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  Speaker 1: faces of very hue, convinced the heart, which leaps with
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  Speaker 1: glad surprise, that they two are living symbols of omnipotent thought.
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  Speaker 1: With a child's eager eye, I drink in the myriad
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  Speaker 1: star shapes, roding luxuriant color upon the green. Beautiful is
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  Speaker 1: the spiritual essence they embody. I leave them nodding in
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  Speaker 1: the breeze, but take along with me their impress upon
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  Speaker 1: my heart. I paused to rest me upon a rock
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  Speaker 1: embedded on the side of a hill facing the low
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  Speaker 1: river bottom. Here the stone boy of whom the American
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  Speaker 1: Aborigin tells, frolics about shooting his baby arrows and shutting
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  Speaker 1: alove with glee at the tiny shafts of lightning. A
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  Speaker 1: flush from the flying arrow beaks. What an ideal warriory became,
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  Speaker 1: muffling the siege of the pests of all the land,
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  Speaker 1: till he triumphed over the united attack. And here we
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  Speaker 1: lay a n our great great grandfather, older than the
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  Speaker 1: hill he rested on, older than the race of men
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  Speaker 1: who loved to tell of his wonderful career. Interwoven with
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  Speaker 1: the thread of this Indian legend of the rock, a
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  Speaker 1: faint would trace the subtle knowledge of the native folk
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  Speaker 1: which enabled them to recognize a kinship to any and
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  Speaker 1: all parts of this vast universe. By the leading of
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  Speaker 1: an ancient trail, I moved toward the Indian village with
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  Speaker 1: the strong happy sense that book crad and smaller, so
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  Speaker 1: surely unfolded in his magnitude, that without a miss hitch
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  Speaker 1: has his allotted individual ground of opportunities. I am buoyant
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  Speaker 1: with gun nature. Yellow breast swaying upon the slender stem
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  Speaker 1: of a wild sunflower warbles the sweet assurance of this.
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  Speaker 1: As I passed near by, breaking off the clear crystal sun,
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  Speaker 1: he turns his wee head from side to side, eye
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  Speaker 1: me wisely, as slowly a plod with moccasined feet. Then
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  Speaker 1: again he yields himself to his sun of joy, flip
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  Speaker 1: flat hither and yon he fills the summer sky with
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  Speaker 1: his swift, sweet melody, and truly does it seem his
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  Speaker 1: vigorous freedom lies more in his little spirit than in
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  Speaker 1: his wing. With these thoughts, I reach the log cabin,
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  Speaker 1: whither I am strongly drawn by the tie of a
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  Speaker 1: child to an aged mother. I'll bounce my fourfooted friend
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  Speaker 1: to meet me, frisking about my path with an mistakable delight.
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  Speaker 1: Chan is a black, shaggy dog, a thoroughbred little mongrel
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  Speaker 1: of whom I am very fond. Chan seems to understand
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  Speaker 1: many words in Sioux, and will go to her mat
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  Speaker 1: even when I whisper the word, though generally I think
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  Speaker 1: she is gathered by the tone of the voice. Often
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  Speaker 1: she tries to imitate the sliding inflection and long drawn
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  Speaker 1: up voice, to the amusement of our guests, but her
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  Speaker 1: articulation is quite beyond my ear. In both my hands
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  Speaker 1: I hold her shaggy head and gaze into her large
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  Speaker 1: brown eyes. At once the related pupils contract into tiny
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  Speaker 1: black dots, as if the rogue spirit within with a
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  Speaker 1: weg my questioning. Finally resuming the chair in my desk,
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  Speaker 1: I feel kin sympathy with my fellow creatures, for I
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  Speaker 1: seem to see clearly again that all are akin the
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  Speaker 1: racial lines which ones were bitily real, nosserve nothing more
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  Speaker 1: than marking out a living mosaic of human beings. And
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  Speaker 1: even here men of the same color are like the
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  Speaker 1: other quys of one instrument, where each resembles all the rest,
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  Speaker 1: yet varies from them in pitch and quality of voice.
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  Speaker 1: And those creatures who are for a time mere echoes
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  Speaker 1: of another's note are not unlike the fable of a
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  Speaker 1: thin sick man whose distorted shadow, dressed like a real creature,
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  Speaker 1: came to the old master to make him follow as
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  Speaker 1: a shadow. Thus, with a compassion and for all echoes
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  Speaker 1: in human guise, I greet the sullen faced the native preacher,
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  Speaker 1: whom I find awaiting me. I listen with respect for
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  Speaker 1: God's creature, though he mouthed most strangely the jangling phrases
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  Speaker 1: of bigoted creed. As our tribe is one large family,
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  Speaker 1: where every person is related to all the others, he
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  Speaker 1: addressed me, cousin, I came from the mourning church service
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  Speaker 1: to talk with you, Yes, I said interrogatively, as he
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  Speaker 1: paused for some word from me, shifting uneasily about in
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  Speaker 1: the straight backed chairry set upon he began every Holy
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  Speaker 1: day Sunday, I look about our little God's house, and
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  Speaker 1: not seeing you there, I am disappointed. This is why
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  Speaker 1: I come to day, cousin. As I watch you from afar,
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  Speaker 1: I see on me coming behavior and hear only good
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  Speaker 1: reports of you, which all the more burns me with
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  Speaker 1: the wish that you are a church member. Cousin, I
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  Speaker 1: was not long years ago by can missionaries to read
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  Speaker 1: the Holy Book. These dudly men taught me also the
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  Speaker 1: folly of our old beliefs. There is one God who
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  Speaker 1: gives reward or punishment to the rays of dead men.
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  Speaker 1: In the upper region, the Christian dead are gathered in
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  Speaker 1: unceasing song and prayer. In the dip pit below, the
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  Speaker 1: sinful ones dance in torture and flames. Think upon these things,
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  Speaker 1: my cousin, and choose now to avoid the afterloom of
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  Speaker 1: hell fire. Then followed the long silence, in which he
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  Speaker 1: clasped tighter and unclasped again his interlocked fingers, like instantaneous
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  Speaker 1: lightning flashes, came pictures of my own mother's making, for
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  Speaker 1: she too is now a follower of the new superstition.
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  Speaker 1: Knacking out the chinking of our luck cabin, some evil
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  Speaker 1: hen thrust in a burning taper of brighted, dry grass,
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  Speaker 1: but failed with his intent, for the fire died out,
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  Speaker 1: and a half burnt brand fell inward to the floor.
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  Speaker 1: Directly above it, on a shelf lay the Holy Book.
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  Speaker 1: This is what we found after our return from several
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  Speaker 1: days visit. Surely some great power, he said, been sacred book,
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  Speaker 1: brushing away from my eyes many like pictures. I offered
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  Speaker 1: midday meal to the converted Indian, sitting wordless and with
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  Speaker 1: downcast face. No sooner had he risen from the table
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  Speaker 1: with cousin I have relished it, than the church bell
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  Speaker 1: rang Thither he hurried forth with his afternoon sermon. I
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  Speaker 1: watched him as he hastened along, his eyes bent fast
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  Speaker 1: upon the dusty road, till he disappeared at the end
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  Speaker 1: of a quarter of a mile. The little incident recalled
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  Speaker 1: to mind the copy of a missionary paper brought to
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  Speaker 1: my note a few days ago, in which a Christian
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  Speaker 1: pudulist commented upon a recent article of mine, grossly perverting
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  Speaker 1: the spirit of my pen. Still I would not forget
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  Speaker 1: that the pale faced missionary and hoodod Aborigin are both
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  Speaker 1: cats creatures, though small. Indeed their haunt's conceptions of infinite love,
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  Speaker 1: a weech isle tuddeling in one world. I preferred to
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  Speaker 1: there dogma my excursions into the natural gardens, where the
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  Speaker 1: voice of the Great Spirit is heard in the twittering
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  Speaker 1: of birds, the rippling of mighty waters, and the sweet
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  Speaker 1: breathing of flowers. Here, in a fleeting quiet I am
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  Speaker 1: awakened by the fluttering robe of the Great Spirit. To
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  Speaker 1: my innermost consciousness, the phenomenal Universe is a royal mantle
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  Speaker 1: vibrating with his divine breath, caught in his flowing fringes,
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  Speaker 1: ha the spangles and oscillating brilliants of sun, moon and stars,
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  Speaker 1: and of Section four