I wake to the sound of her voice every day.
She dwells within me. And tugs at my heart.
The heaviness in my chest. The lack of inspiration, motivation. Of courage, to do what I know I came to do.
Most times she wins; she never tires, and fights to the death.
Sometimes I feel like I’m dying.
But then I remember.. I’m still alive.
As I tear her claws out from under my skin, from whence they came, I feel a slight urge to give in. To give up. To accept my defeat, because in surrendering I can now rest. No longer must the fight live on.
But I don’t.
And deep down I know that I’m not defeated. That I will never accept defeat as long as I live, as long as my heart still beats, as long as I breathe.
Resistance. It never quits. And it never leaves.
Nearly four months ago, I wrote a blog post. Since then, I’ve had this thought, this feeling, like “What’s the point? Nobody wants to read these words anyway. I don’t feel like it. I don’t make a difference. WHO AM I?!”
Today, I realized that I’m going crazy without this form of expression. That I don’t have to do everything for other people. I can do it for myself.
I write these pages. As a form of art. As expression, through written word.
If a person reads this, great.
If not? No problem!
Because THIS? This is a part of ME. And it’s about time I give myself permission to simply write for the sake of writing. To live for the sake of living. To share for the sake of sharing, knowing that all that moves through me is a form of art, of love.
Not so that I can “become famous” or “make a shit-load of money” or “CHANGE THE WORLD!!”
None of that.
I mean, it sounds great and all…
But for me, these above reasons will never be strong enough “whys.”
Because it can never BE about ME. It must be about the mission, to share what’s on my heart. To help others. To love, to serve, to grow.
It must simply be for the sake of expression. Of practicing the art and flow of life: energy in, energy out.
Make. Do. Create. Express. LIVE FULLY with no regrets.
I’m a writer. So I write. I’m a singer so I sing. I’m a child so I play, and I laugh and I find a reason to have fun.
I am an artist. And so are YOU.
Because we were created, we are creation. Therefore, we create.
It is innate within us. To form ideas and solve problems, and make babies. To prepare beautiful meals, to decorate our homes, to dress ourselves and create our own individual style.
We are creators.
We create with our thoughts- create emotions and dreams and visions of the future. We create the feeling of love in our heart, because it feels good.
And then we write about it. Talk about it. Express it in some way.
We go jogging on the beach, we dance in a rainstorm, we pray on our knees, and we sit in silence with a candle flickering in the darkness nearby.
We are creators.
We express ourselves. We live our lives to the best of our ability and through it all, resistance rests on our left shoulder…in an effort to keep us from doing what we really wish to do, becoming all that we wish to become, to creating the life that we are destined to create, and live, and thrive within.
I’m writing a blog post today. And it’s not perfect.
What the hell is “perfect” anyway?
This post is created. That in itself IS perfection. The pushing past the resistance IS the success. Knowing that resistance is right here with us as I write these words, as you read these pages…
But I’m writing them anyway.
And you’re reading them.
Every single thing that we could ever want in life is a single thought away. We think it, we plan it, we focus on it, we take action to achieve it, and eventually (never overnight) we succeed. We have completed what we set out for.
I believe it starts in becoming friends with this enemy we call “resistance,” the mother of my “un-success” in many areas of life. The voice in my head that has kept me from doing all the things I wish to do because I am afraid.
Becoming friends with resistance: inviting her in, allowing her to help in the process of doing, creating, becoming, and achieving all that we set out to do.
That is where the next step to our success lies.
We choose not to fight to the death, but to quit the fight before it even begins.
We get to fall in love..
And magic happens. Words are born onto these pages.
So here’s to you.
The sweet and precious one I call resistance, how I love you.