Steven Pressfield has a written an entire, and brilliant, book about Resistance. He called it The War of Art. I keep it constantly before me, especially for times like this. When I'm riddled and rotten with fear. Petrified to stillness, procrastination and rearrangement. The rearrangement of my desk, the kitchen, the racks and shelves of my mind.
In a chapter titled Resistance and Fear he writes that fear is good. Like self-doubt, fear is an indicator. Fear tells us what we have to do.
"Remember our rule of thumb: The more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it."
He defines Resistance over a number of succinct chapters: Resistance is Invisible, is one of them.
"Resistance cannot be seen, touched, heard or smelled. But it can be felt. We experience it as an energy field radiating from a work-in-potential. It's a repelling force. It's negative. It's aim is to shove us away, distract us, prevent us from doing our work."
As you can see by the photos of my last few posts, I'm desperately hanging on to my last ten days alongside, and in the ocean.
As the winter darkness creeps, crawls into all the crevices of my life, I find myself hanging desperately on to the brilliant light, warmth, sea sand and fresh air of KwaZulu-Natal's Indian Ocean coastline.
Tonight, as like most of today, I'm in the doldrums. Resistance won hands down today.
Sitting on the faded-blue old couch in front of the as yet unlit wood stove, I look left and straight into the green full moon eyes of my cat: what contrast! Again, in an instant, I'm reminded of the beauty and simplicity of it all.
Leaning back I close my eyes and visualize my world to be different. And better. Much better.