Why do we struggle so with our lives? Is it possible that we struggle in order to feel that we are alive? I might conclude this based on the innumerable times that a friendly voice suggests a resolution to a problem, but the recipient refuses to listen, apply it, or even consider it as an alternative. Is it that our understanding of who we are is flawed, and that our minds embrace the struggle in order to remain dominant, to remain in continuity, to justify its dominance? Is the resolution to a problem the end of the mind’s dominance at that point in time?
Are we perfectly perfect without the struggle? Is a certain mindlessness, a certain contentment with the moment at hand, without recourse to thought, who we truly are? Can we live with that realization? Can the mind cease struggling with its subordination? Is it enough to breathe, watch, relate, exist, sigh, and move through life without struggling to change anything? The answer is obvious to me.
And yet, without a struggle, can we ever realize that the struggle is pointless and counter-productive? Is there a paradox here? Do we realize we are perfect only when we realize we are imperfect?
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