Are You Winning Your Master’s War?


Image: Dick Price, The War After The War

The doorknob turned as anarchy stormed in.

Violence ensued.

Mercy fled.

The war waged on the battlefield of time.

The adversaries bellowed their distinctive battle cries charging to defend their cause ordered by their respective commanders.

Like any good soldier, you fight the battle without understanding the cause—that’s what you signed up to do.

Since relinquishing your thoughts, feelings, and views to your leader, you no longer command your own life.

Someone else dictates your actions, your every move, and your way of living.

You have only the voice of your leader’s commands and orders echoing throughout your being.

Your true identity’s been stripped—dead to the world, dead to anyone you encounter, especially noticeable to those desiring a connection  with you.

No chapter exists in your war manual  for appropriately interacting with those longing to be close to you because you’ve been programmed to die.

Relationships necessitate life.

Your life’s no longer yours.

Regrettably true, you’ve sold your soul forgetting you were born free with liberty to move about unfettered.

As the battle persists—lives cut down, enemies (of your leader) destroyed—you feel victorious because it seems you’re winning.

I inquire of you, “What are you winning—your master’s war?”

You can give no thought to my questions presently. If you do, you will die on this non-self-imposed battlefield.

Your commander equipped you with the art of war to do combat in his battle, defending his interests, in his stead.

For your survival, you must follow his instructions to the letter until this battle’s end. Only then can you embrace your truth and purpose lying just beyond this war zone.

Hold on soldier—fight for your survival so you can live to determine your own destiny.



Nesi Writes

Eighties Lady to Authentic Goddess: Decades of Travailing

Artist: Gina Intveen

Deliverance from an incessant multitasking lifestyle is powerfully superb—totally awesome.

Yes, guess you can tell I’m a girl from the ‘80s—for sure, gnarly, grody to the max.

I embraced the trends of my era from autonomy to Gucci, Louis, and Fendi—byproducts of the ‘80s—the age of decadence, bravado, and big hair.

No, I wasn’t on the drug scene but thinking back so many of us were very thin. Coke does that you know—high, wild, flying free, Yuppie, Buppie, Beamer, and all in between.

“I’m Every Woman” was the standard.

In the ‘70s, they brought home the bacon. In the “80s, we took it to a whole new level by negotiating high-powered deals determining whether to buy or sell the pork from whence the bacon came.

Our prestigious jobs afforded us decision-making opportunities affecting billions of lives with millions of dollars at our disposal to do with as we pleased keeping the corporate machine moving full steam ahead.

Some of my sisters raised babies, satisfied husbands, and attended fund-raisers while simultaneously landing million-dollar contracts. That’s what busting down the door to occupy the ivory tower entailed.

See, we grew up knowing that women could do anything. Our feminist sisters, as you call them, paved the way for us to have it all.

Superwoman now embodied us—no Lois Lane roles for the ‘80s ladies.

Then, the dam broke…

We realized what we’d become was a bit too costly—losing some things along the way, e.g., our children, family, the loves of our life, you name it.

Looking back, overstuffed bank accounts and the satisfaction of knowing we could run shit better than any two men put together were all that remained—so what?

I tell you my feminine gender ladies from the ‘80s, it’s time to relax, release, and rest. Three decades have passed.

That, big hair-shoulder padded suit-junior in the back seat of the Beamer with his sunglasses-window screen on his side of the car, age vanished into the annals of time.

Rest, Chick!

Join us as we chill here in the 21st century where we’ve got nothing to prove to anyone.

It’s time to flow in your know—doing what you do, exhaling your authentic breath into the air surrounding you.

My Sister, I extend love, tranquility, and deuces to you.

Be free…

© 2012, Nesi Writes