“The highest treason a crab can commit is to make a leap from the rim of the bucket.” –Steven Pressfield
Have you ever decided to start a diet or spiritual practice, maybe you would like to sponsor a child in some far-off land, or maybe you wanted to run for office. Maybe you wanted to get married or have a child, or campaign for world peace.
You either didn’t do it, or else the whole idea quickly drifted away.
Are you a writer who doesn’t write, a painter that doesn’t paint, or an entrepreneur who doesn’t begin a venture?
Then you know what Resistance is.
Resistance is a word I got from Steven Pressfield’s book The War of Art. It means not doing the work you were meant to do.
Did you know that Hitler wanted to be an artist? At eighteen he took his inheritance and applied to the Academy of fine arts, and later to the School of Architecture. Pressfield’s asked if we had ever seen any of his drawings. He said, and this was a stretch, but it was easier for Hitler to start World War II than to face a blank canvas.
Actually, Hitler was ravished by defeat. He flunked out of high school, and both entrance exams to the art schools he wanted. He was selfish, egotistic, and lazy and would not take any criticism, and this man rose to prominence. You figure.
Many people have been told they have no talent, would never make it, and said, “They’re nuts,” and went on to do the thing they wanted to do.
Pressfield’s point is you do your work anyway—even if it’s terrible. You show up. You put your butt on the chair.
Resistance hits any health regime, spiritual advancement, diet, any calling in writing, music, education, or political movement.
The awakening person must be ruthless with themselves and with others who sabotage their efforts. You know how many times, “The starving artist,” has been played. Me neither.
Procrastination? Well, what can I say? You know about that. There are always distractions. Ill health, getting into trouble, soap operas—nothing like dad getting drunk, mom getting sick, and junior showing up with a swastika tattoo, to set a family spinning out of control.
Do we believe in freedom, affluence, stability, and enough resources to permit the luxury of self-examination? Do we believe that the world is advancing, however haltingly, toward a better world?
Or do we view humanity as fallen from a higher state? Do we believe in a philosophy of powerlessness? Do we need a doctrine to tell us what to do, rather than decide for ourselves?
I work up this morning humming, “We’re simply soldiers in petticoats.” Remember Mrs. Banks in the movie Mary Poppins? The original Mary Poppins, that is, released 1964. That was 55 years ago! I saw the movie with my mother and little sister, and my mother didn’t quite get the laughing on the ceiling bit—what a shot. Ed Wynn was perfect.
“Although we adore men individually, as a rule, they’re rather stupid.” See what Mrs. Banks could get away with.
That is art.
Don’t be insulted men, we adore you individually, but as a rule, we’ve had some pretty stupid men circling the globe recently.
Some people might see Mary Poppins as a frivolous child’s movie, but think of this, Mrs. Banks was a suffragette. The Fiduciary Bank, where Mr. Banks worked, was greedy and controlling. The altruistic little boy, Michael, wanted to feed the birds with his toppin. The parents were distracted and shuffled their children off to a nanny.
I hope I didn't use too many of the song lyrics for *"Sister Suffragette," by Richard M. Sherman and Robert B. Sherman. My publisher says that a song company can make you shred your book if you use too many song lyrics.
Don’t shred my blog.
Song titles are okay.
Okay, I go to the computer to do “my work,”—but first resistance, check my email. Hey, one of you might have sent me something grand.
This popped up.
$500.00 off coupon for a coaching course to make me beautiful.
“Enrol here,” they said.
Doesn’t enroll have two L’s?
Ha ha. Don’t get too serious.
*“Our daughter’s daughters will adore us…”
A bit of trivia; In the Walt Disney World in the lost and found, there is a wooden leg with the word, "Smith,” on it. You know the joke, "I know a man with a wooden leg named Smith."
"What's the name of his other leg?"
The Frog's Song by Joyce Davis
For more information on The Frog's Song, I invite you to click on https://thefrogssong.com
Joyce's travels have taken her beyond the shores of her native continent, but she's back where she started, in Oregon.