#crow dog

I am not afraid to die. If I die at Wounded Knee, I will go where Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull and our grandfathers are.

The white man's reality are his streets with their banks, shops, neon lights, and traffic, streets full of policeman, whores, and sad-faced people in a hurry to punch a time-clock. But this is unreal. The real reality is underneath all this. Grandfather Peyote helps you find it.

The first Crow Dog had shown them the way. As a chief, he had the right to wear a war bonnet, but he never did. Instead he found somewhere an old, discarded, white man's cloth cap with a visor and to the top of it he fastened an eagle feather. He used to say: 'This white man's cap that I am wearing means that I must live in the wasicun's world, under his government. The eagle feather means that I, Crow Dog, do not let the wasicun's world get the better of me, that I remain an Indian until the day I die.'

Our most sacred altar is this hemisphere, this earth we’re standing on, this land we’re defending.

I'll teach you a song--the voices of the spirits. The drum will be the heart beat of Mother Earth. The clouds are the dreams--visions of the mind. We will be praying to elevate ourselves from this world to the other world.