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In My Dreams

KC Cheef

In my dreams last night.
I watched an Indian Motocycle.
Climbing slowly up the side of a mountain.
The road was rutted – the machine covered in dust.
The rider was slumped over in the saddle, his silhouette conveyed weariness.
His face wore an expression of sorrow and loss.
In my dream I watched.
As he reached the summit of the mountain.
Climbed off his machine.
Raised his arms to the heavens.
Tipped back his head.
And shouted into the 4 winds.
“Saint Peter!
Open your gates.
Throw them wide and hold onto your robes.
The Indian Riders are sending you another Brother!
We’ve lost another rider from our earthly band.
He’s riding the clouds on a phantom Chief.
No stop on the throttle on this ride.
No pain or fear or worry.
He left that behind when he departed his earthly body.
This is the ride of dreams.
Saint Peter!
That ain’t the Lords thunder you hear rumbling towards you.
It’s the rolling thunder of an Indian Motocycle.
Our Brother is belly down on the fat tanks of a phantom Chief.
He is on the perfect heavenly road to his reward.
He rides the clouds!
Eternally full tanks—and the perfect motocycle.
Our Brother is on the ride of dreams.
Saint Peter!
Hear that thunder getting closer?
You better get The 1 BigDogg, Lumpy, and Handy, Choctaw, and Inchief, Corky, Lil Bastard and Big Daddy.
Tell them there is a brother roaring towards the gates.
They will want to be waiting to join him.
As he rides into his eternal reward.
Saint Peter!
You better warn the Angels!
Heaven will be hosting an Indian Pow Wow.
These Brothers will have a celebration of the life they have left behind.
They will rejoice in being together in the place of dreams.
They will rejoice in the blessings they had in the world they left behind.
They will rejoice in the memories of families and the friendships they were allowed to share on their time on earth.
Saint Peter!
Rejoice alongside them.
Do not judge them by their looks.
These are good men who lived good lives on earth.
They chose to travel an earthly path that took them down a different trail than most people follow.
They are among the best we have to offer.
We did not want to give them up this soon.
But the roll was called, and they followed the will of the Creator.
In my dreams last night.
I watched the weary rider climb back onto his machine.
His face had a look of relief, and joy.
He had done the task assigned to him.
He understood the loss we feel on earth is temporary.
He understood the rewards our brothers’ ride to are eternal.
In my dreams last night.
I watched the rider.
Roar down the mountainside.
On his dusty machine.
I saw him return to his brothers.
I watched as he conveyed his joy at sending another rider on.
He explained to his band that on the roads of Heaven.
Indian riders do not Rest in Peace.
There is no time for that.
The roads are eternally perfect.
The machines are built by the Creator.
The riders are blessed with eternal joy.



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