“A wee child toddling in a wonder, 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, I am Pagan.”
...Childhood memories rose before me. I could almost hear the sound of the preacher's voice as I sat, on still Sundays, way over there on the hillside; there was that proffered temperance pledge I never signed; my grandfather's good natured contempt of some church folk and their doings; his insistence that the spheres really had their music; but his denial of the preacher's right to tell him how he must listen; his fearlessness as he spoke of these things just before he died; these recollections welled up from the past. They made me swallow hard.
Big Book pg. 10
...And then, with a better motive, had we not worshipfully beheld the sunset, the sea, or a flower?
Big Book pg. 54
Grandfather show us your spirit is in all things.