Looking at Struggles

  During the meditation practice this morning, all four of us had experienced the gamut of sounds and bustling about in the center. There was a chanting ceremony upstairs, and we were in the small room downstairs, close to the impending traffic. Volunteers were also busily preparing lunch just outside our quiet room, and the meditation was punctuated by the sounds of human presence: whispers, the stacking of books, the shuffle of slippers against the hardwood floors.
      One of the participants remarked during the sharing that, initially, he had been disturbed by the sound of the cars outside when he had first practiced in this particular room. Now, however, he is much calmer when hearing the traffic noise during meditation. I had remarked on how good it is that we can continue to practice when there is so much going on in daily life.
      I used to feel that meditation is about somehow eliminating struggle from one's life. It's tempting to think this way, because according to Buddhist teachings (for example), dualistic thinking is one source of suffering and vexation. And the 'goal', if there is one, in meditative practice, is to somehow overcome duality. In this way, it's tempting to say that meditation involves stilling and quieting the mind so that it is no longer even aware of struggles. But if one is really seeing without dualism, they likely would not distinguish even 'struggle' from 'non-struggle'. In fact, they would be able to see that the two are phenomena of the same mind, and are thus not opposing each other.
    Why is it important to somehow embrace struggle, even when on the sitting cushion? I suppose there are different ways to look at it. One is that struggle is an inevitable part of being human, from the struggle to work, to the struggle to educate oneself, even to the struggle to communicate or relate to others. I don't know anyone in this world who has not somehow had to work to obtain something, whether it be an income, an education or even a life in a new country. Even in an ideal world where all resources were equally accessible to all beings, one still needs to struggle somewhat to get out of bed, maintain one's health, and get on with the necessities of life. To try to eliminate struggle would be quite counter to how the world of samsara is, where even humans have to struggle to survive and even find work.
    I think that what meditation and Buddhist teachings offer isn't necessarily an 'end' to struggle, but a way of looking at it that does not personalize struggle or 'internalize' it. That is, a person recognizes daily struggle without thinking there is a concrete 'self' that struggles. There are people, for example, who dream about winning the lottery so they can get out of struggle, or be one of those lucky people who watches other people go to work or school, etc. On the other hand, there are those who lament their suffering of hardship, and even feel they are the worst of the lot. In both cases, there is a strong feeling of "I" who is struggling. In fact, if I internalize the sense of "I struggle and that is terrible", it isn't long before I start to identify with the struggle and even create a 'struggle identity'. Then when things are really going smoothly, I suffer because my  'struggle identity' is no longer being fed! Then I don't know where to go from there!
    On the other hand, if I am not taking struggle personally, I can start to see it more as a phenomena that doesn't reference a self. Things need to be done and there is no end to these things that need doing, but the difference is that I am not stopping to figure out who is gaining or losing from it. I don't keep checking to see if I have had enough, or how well I am doing, or what I am gaining or losing from struggle. Without self-identifying with struggle, I can start to see it in a less disastrous way. If I lose struggle or win, it's no longer about 'me' being a failure or a success. Rather, I accept the struggle simply as a challenge and exert whatever efforts I can to meet it. In this way, struggle never 'ends' but my attachment to its outcome does.