I’m an American, happy to be in America.
You see, for twelve years, I lived in three communist/socialist countries, and one on the edge of anarchy. It takes generations for the nature of a people to change, and I was thrilled to join in the evolution of a free-spirited nature in Viet Nam, more than in China or Laos. Sadly, such an evolution in Kashmir has been suppressed for decades.
I crossed many borders during my fifteen years in Asia, and in most countries, people commented with a bit of cheer, or envy, about the freedoms we have in America. The Vietnamese, in particular, admired the American Way and followed the lead of our nature.
You see, Viet Nam’s history reaches back to the time B.C., when their nature was dictated by threats from occupation, feudal wars, colonial repression, and the American war; followed by a corrupt reunification, and finally, rebirth. In contrast, America’s short history began with the Revolutionary War; followed by a broad westward expansion of people with grit, who built the greatest nation on earth. To sustain our brief existence, and that of others, over three million men and women lived and died by creeds, such as: “Give me liberty, or give me death”, and “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.”
Late on a quest across that mystical and sacred land, with occassional curiosity about the depth and disparity of our natures, I was enlightened to the God particle of the American soul; something with greater definition to me as time passes; something missing, or fading, from the lives of too many people within our borders.
Now, I’m going to entertain you with a story. It’s about an obligation many of you would have felt the same.
“An Ode to My Boys”,
was a funny little ditty I wrote last year.
It’s now a full length poem
with a message to hear.
I call it:
Essence
By: Mike Rinowski
It’s been a good year
I said with cheer.
To the north and south
west and east,
my Boys beat with the heart of a beast.
I looked to each with pride
as I would to a bride,
but spoke words neither wanted to hear.
Our season has gone
last tracks have been laid,
I sadly said.
You, whose miles are few, my ’98,
with my battle-scarred ’08,
the time has come to hibernate.
While frigid winds blow
and trails cover with snow,
I’ll tend to your needs
for another season you’ll roll.
And in a blink,
winter’s chill will shrink,
and in May I’ll call
the ’08 to make
another ride to The Wall.
Once upon a time, you see,
its tires laid tracks,
to honor our fallen
on the land they saw last.
My boots on the ground
they had not been,
nor those of friends
nor any kin.
I was just—an American.
From one job to another
I landed in Hanoi,
and with shady arrangements
imported a Fat Boy.
No Harley had been
on trails like mine,
with beauty and welcome
at a peaceful time.
The solitude of jungle
was a powerful sensation,
on a war-torn land
now a young nation.
A threshold was crossed
where I felt a bond,
and the spirits were quick
to respond.
NOBODY rode alone,
it was said.
I became nobody
with over 58,000 instead.
Fearless we were
on my iron beast,
made in America
to say the least.
With innocent and noble intent,
no judge of events,
I laid tracks
with a playful vengeance.
I taunted trails and elements
with a fist in the air,
and some situations
just weren’t fair!
In the spirit of freedom
for them I did ride,
with a handful of throttle
and a heart full of pride.
Beside my trails
remains did wait,
while their spirits looked down
from the Pearly Gate.
The hell they all passed through
I imagined with tears,
but later to them
raised Ba Muoi Ba beers.
On the land they did battle,
some would say-
their cause was not lost,
in slid shades
of the American Way.
Within its borders
our colors are bold,
in fashion or flag
and our nature takes hold.
From the tip to the top
41,000 miles I rode,
with the spirits of young men
it was a ride to behold.
The wind in my face
blew caution astray.
I was Viet Nam’s luckiest rider
everyday.
With asphalt next year
the ’08’s tires will rhyme,
as they have now
for nine years’ time.
My word was given,
and rightly so,
when I’m done with the bike
to The Wall it will go.
For those yet to come
I hope they will see,
as an example of many
one acted—naturally.
In my life came a quest
you would attest,
to follow a path
truly blessed.
What it was for
I thought I knew,
but followed faith
to awareness anew.
One if by land, two if by sea,
since the ride of Revere
grew our essence so pure,
that of a free-spirited
and patriotic nature.
We have freedoms galore
that many adore,
but there’s an old saying, you see,
that nothing is free.
To those who gave all
—from that fateful ride
to the latest fall—
we have a debt,
to live responsibly
and never forget.
The morals, values, and excitement
they cherished in life,
must be in ours, too,
to honor them true.
That, is the American Way
***
Thank You
&
Welcome Home
