I’m sitting here. Keeping my date with the Muse. I recently read Pressfield’s fantastic book: The War of Art. Thos post is a meditation on the concepts I found there. Much of the language is borrowed from there so if you like the imagery check it out.
My mind turns to sword fights as my friend and I sit near each other facing the daunting obstacle of the blank page. That page is a battleground between the artist and the Resistance. You have to keep a level head and a cool heart because the Resistance wants you to leave that page blank. This isn’t personal. It can’t be personal. If it is the Resistance wins. You need to approach art like a hired gun, a mercenary. The Resistance wants you to lose your cool and get dragged into the trap, because that means the son of a bitch has won.
You’re paralyzed, static. You won’t create, practice, or grow. So you have to take off running and keep running. Run forward like the devil is breathing down your neck because he is.
My dear old mom once said: The devil isn’t ugly. He doesn’t look like a monster. If he did it would be easy to avoid him. No, he looks like everything you always wanted. The Resistance looks like the warm bed when you need to get up and practice. It looks like the party when you should be sitting and writing. The awesome TV show when you should be meditating.
The resistance is your adversary. Your arch nemesis. And it wants to make you stay forever the same. Because who the fuck are you to aspire? To reach higher? To make an effort? You’re a damn fool it tells you.
But you look the devil in the eye and say: I’m alive. I exist. I’m here. And I have this desire, this passion in my heart.
Art and creation challenge us and shatter our egos. Ego is the mayfly of the soul. Born in the morning and dying in the evening.
Work on your passion each day. There may never be a reward but the work is the reward. Face down the resistance. Grow. Change.
Tell the Resistance to fuck right off.