• Cynthia Dagnal-Myron

Louise Erdrich is taking NO prisoners...

Yes, I've been away a loooong time. On purpose. I'm revising a novel but also trying not to let my writing consume every single minute of my life.

But I had to share this with you today--from Brezsny again, my favorite astrologer and "guru." He posted this in his weekly horoscopes today, and since it's a poem by one of my favorite writers/role models, I couldn't just keep it to myself.

Take a deep breath for this deep dive. It's a rather pithy and demanding piece that can be off putting at first but has something for everyone in there somewhere if you can be patient with it. Let's GO:

ADVICE TO MYSELF #2, Resistance

Resist the thought that you may need a savior,

or another special being to walk beside you.

Resist the thought that you are alone.

Resist turning your back on the knife

of the world’s sorrow,

resist turning that knife upon yourself.

Resist your disappearance

into sentimental monikers,

into the violent pattern of corporate logos,

into the mouth of the unholy flower of consumerism.

Resist being consumed.

Resist your disappearance

into anything except

the face you had before you walked up to the podium.

Resist all funding sources but accept all money.

Cut the strings and dismantle the web

that needing money throws over you.

Resist the distractions of excess.

Wear old clothes and avoid chain restaurants.

Resist your genius and your own significance

as declared by others.

Resist all hint of glory but accept the accolade

as tributes to your double.

Walk away in your unpurchased skin.

Resist the millionth purchase and go backward.

Get rid of everything.

If you exist, then you are loved

by existence. What do you need?

A spoon, a blanket, a bowl, a book—

maybe the book you give away.

Resist the need to worry, robbing everything

of immediacy and peace.

Resist traveling except where you want to go.

Resist seeing yourself in others or them in you.

Nothing, everything, is personal.

Resist all pressure to have children

unless you crave the torment of joy.

If you give in to irrationality, then

resist cleaning up the messes your children make.

You are robbing them of small despairs they can fix.

Resist cleaning up after your husband.

It will soon replace having sex with him.

Resist outrageous charts spelling doom.

However you can, rely on sun and wind.

Resist loss of the miraculous

by lowering your standards

for what constitutes a miracle.

It is all a fucking miracle.

Resist your own gift’s power

to tear you away from the simplicity of tears.

Your gift will begin to watch you having your emotions,

so that it can use them in an interesting paragraph,

or to get a laugh.

Resist the blue chair of dreams, the red chair of science, the black chair

of the humanities, and just be human.

Resist all chairs.

Be the one sitting on the ground

or perching on the beam overhead

or sleeping beneath the podium.

Resist disappearing from the stage,

unless you can walk straight into the bathroom and resume the face,

the desolate face, the radiant face, the weary face, the face

that has become your own, though all your life

you have resisted it.

By Louise Erdrich

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