When my time on this earth has expired, I have no desire to be sealed in some over-priced box, by strangers who never knew me, nor cared about me. I have no desire to be displayed in some church, like a dead outlaw, riddled with bullet holes and displayed for all to see, merely so everyone can get one last peek at the body that I once inhabited. Don’t play some outdated church hymn or have some preacher, who didn’t know me, give some rehearsed speech over my lifeless body.

Instead, burn my body like a warrior, under the full moon, in an open air pyre, with a Native American flute playing in the background, knowing that I am no longer there, but watching from above. Honor me not by praying for my soul, which will be safely where it belongs with the Creative Force which created it, but rather by gathering to remember the good that I have done during my short time on this planet.

Watch as my old home burns. Listen to the sounds of nature, accompanied by the soft, spiritual sounds of the flute. Reminisce about my accomplishments and the footprints I left for others to follow. Remember the good I brought to this world, and erase from your memory the things that I did before I found the path of honor – the path of the warrior. Continue reading →

I did not write this.  A Purple Heart Medal Recipient that wishes to remain anonymous, did.

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As a combat veteran wounded in one of America’s wars, I offer to speak for those who cannot. Were the mouths of my fallen front-line friends not stopped with dust, they would testify that life revolves around honor.

In war, it is understood that you give your word of honor to do your duty – that is – stand and fight instead of running away and deserting your friends. When you keep your word despite desperately desiring to flee the screaming hell all around, you earn honor.

Earning honor under fire changes who you are. The blast furnace of battle burns away impurities encrusting your soul. The white-hot forge of combat hammers you into a hardened, purified warrior willing to die rather than break your word to friends – your honor.

Combat is scary but exciting. You never feel so alive as when being shot at without result. You never feel so triumphant as when shooting back – with result. You never feel love so pure as that burned into your heart by friends willing to die to keep their word to you.
And they do. Continue reading →

I did not write this.  A really smart WWII Navy Veteran, and a truly GREAT Patriot, by the name of Harold B. Estes did.

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Dear President Obama,

My name is Harold Estes, approaching 95 on December 13 of this year. People meeting me for the first time don’t believe my age because I remain wrinkle free and pretty much mentally alert.

I enlisted in the U.S. Navy in 1934 and served proudly before, during and after WW II retiring as a Master Chief Bos’n Mate. Now I live in a “rest home” located on the western end of Pearl Harbor , allowing me to keep alive the memories of 23 years of service to my country.

One of the benefits of my age, perhaps the only one, is to speak my mind, blunt and direct even to the head man.

So here goes.

I am amazed, angry and determined not to see my country die before I do, but you seem hell bent not to grant me that wish. Continue reading →