Did I mention soft, snowy and white?

On my desk is an Egyptian bergamot rose candle. It burns because I have all the lights off-- not that I am typing by candlelight, by any means. Simply because we were besieged by a battery of battery problems yesterday and I am feeling a need to keep it simple.

First, the plow truck battery was dead and needed a jumpstart. Then, and most distressing to be sure, our generator ran for over 12 hours straight and fried the solar batteries. (One of those totally stupid accidents where neither of us were paying enough attention-- blah). As if that weren't enough, as we went to bed last night we heard a strange, repetive high- pitched sound. We thought it was an animal outside, but discovered after about ten minutes that it was T's phone battery dying.

I mean, seriously. What is the message here?

Personally, (although each of these batteries are maintained by T and not me and thus I think of them as "his" even though they serve us both, obvs) I am choosing to think of it as a sign what happens when you burn too long too hard and don't give it a rest. Not sure that's what the universe is trying to tell me. It may just be something more direct like, hey boneheads, take your head out of the clouds and maintain your equipment already.

Not that I think the universe uses that tone of voice, surely not.

But here I am. Outside it is a full circle of white from earth to sky. Inside, Daisy stays close by my side-- Pandora station is tuned to Enya which adds to the ethereal mood.

Something I wanted to share? This perfect post by Swirly about resistance:

I know it is a sign I'm on the right track. I know the more intensely I feel it, the more imperative it is I plow through it and get to work. I know all those things, and pull them out like tarot cards when I feel like I'm stuck in a block of cement and need some wise council.

Only a seasoned artist, someone who has been through the full gamut of what it takes to create-- the terrible beginnings, the unexpected twists, the surrender to process-- can write what she wrote with the hard-won knowledge that comes from living this cycle again and again. I am so grateful that she took the time to share it on her blog. It helps me enormously to understand that this IS the process. That resistance is the front door-- that's all. It's not going to kill me. It's just a damn door. Stop imagining it as an unmovable stone. There is a purpose to its presence. The door demands that you commit. It demands that you act-- that you step up and turn the knob and cross the threshold into the foyer on your own two damn feet.

Of course you can sit on the porch and lean your head against the door and sob about how hard it is and how unyielding it is and how frustrating it is that the world has doors. (I actually do that quite a lot, frankly. I am pretty stupid when it comes to the creative process and still tend to make all the same noises starting out that I do when heading to the gym after too long away. What can I say? I'm just not that evolved, I'm afraid. But, I've been through it enough to at least have recognition of the stages in my resistance).

The biggest one of all, for me, is the feeling of frustration. I dread frustration with the same horror I reserve for throwing up. Anger is no big deal for me, sorrow, hurt-- you name it, I will take anything before having to contend with frustration. Which is, hello! --> absurd!

Frustration is a resistance to the acknowledgement that I am not perfect-- that my work is not perfect-- that I am lacking the skills or understanding to move forward. Lucky for me, my word for 2010 is LAUGHTER. As is there anything more ludicrous, more steeped in the abject ridiculousness of human ego than a resistance to the truth that we are not perfect? I ask you--

Of course not. Moliere had a field day with people like me.

So last night, when I finally settled in to a schedule and began those first scratchings on the page-- instead of feeling a sense of calm and achievement that the process was underway-- I stood up after I'd gotten as much done as I could and beat myself up for how awful it was.

Doh.

I'm just saying--> Doh.

Here's to the process of showing up-- staying the course and sending the critical, destroying voices back to hell where they belong.

I'm in it. I'm on it. And the moment I take myself too seriously, I am clicking on a Man Stroke Woman clip including the following:

Bisous, E

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