The struggle to be conscious. It is a struggle. It is a fight, right? It is vigilance. It is unrelenting attention. Fighting every moment to see the right path.
Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe it is not such a struggle. Maybe it is soft yielding. An acknowledgement of how very small and unimportant I am. Of how very little I know or can know. Of how the forces that affect my life are so much larger than I am, and so unfathomable.
Maybe, instead of struggle, forgiveness is the path. Maybe stringing together moment after moment of tenderness and compassion. What if consciousness is not a struggle but a release? The moment of utter humility, when I say: I do not have control. I cannot come out on top of this struggle. I am an ant and you are a thunderstorm. I can only hope to be lucky enough to ride a stable leaf downstream. I can only hope to be conscious enough to forgive myself for drowning.
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