It is just before 2 a.m., and there is a lingering heat in the room that even the open window cannot quite dispel. The air carries that humid, midnight smell, like the ghost of a rain that fell in another neighborhood. There is a dull, persistent ache in my lower spine. I find myself repeatedly shifting my posture, then forcing myself to be still, only to adjust again because I am still chasing the illusion of a perfect sitting position. It doesn’t. Or if such a position exists, I certainly haven't found a way to sustain it.
I find my thoughts constantly weighing one system against another, like a mental debate club that doesn't know when to quit. The labels keep swirling: Mahasi, Goenka, Pa Auk; noting versus scanning; Samatha versus Vipassana. I feel like I am toggling through different spiritual software, hoping one of them will finally crash the rest and leave me in peace. It is frustrating and, frankly, a little embarrassing. I pretend to be above the "search," but in reality, I am still comparing "products" in the middle of the night instead of doing the work.
Earlier tonight, I attempted to simply observe the breath. It should have been straightforward. Suddenly, the internal critic jumped in, asking if I was following the Mahasi noting method or a more standard breath awareness. Are you overlooking something vital? Is there a subtle torpor? Should you be labeling this thought? It is more than just a thought; it is an aggressive line of questioning. I didn't even notice the tension building in my jaw. Once I recognized the tension, the "teacher" in my head had already won.
I recall the feeling of safety on a Goenka retreat, where the schedule was absolute. The timetable held me together. No choices. No questions. Just follow the instructions. It provided a sense of safety. But then, months later and without that structure, the doubts returned as if they had been lurking in the background all along. Pa Auk floated into my thoughts too—all that talk of profound depth and Jhanic absorption—and suddenly my own scattered attention felt inferior. I felt like I was being lazy, even in the privacy of my own room.
The funny thing is that in those moments of genuine awareness, the debate disappears instantly. It is a temporary but powerful silence. For a second, there is only the raw data of experience. Heat in the knee. Pressure in the seat. The whine of a mosquito near my ear. Then the internal librarian rushes in to file the experience under the "correct" technical heading. I almost laugh sometimes.
I felt the vibration of a random alert on my device earlier. I resisted the urge to look, which felt like progress, but then I felt stupid for needing that small win. See? The same pattern. Ranking. Measuring. I wonder how much mental energy I squander just trying to ensure I am doing it "correctly," whatever that even means anymore.
I become aware of a constriction in my breath. I choose not to manipulate the rhythm. I know from experience that trying to manufacture peace only creates more stress. The fan makes its rhythmic clicking sound. That tiny sound triggers a surge of frustration. I label that irritation mentally, then realize I am only labeling because I think it's what a "good" meditator would do. Then I stop labeling out of spite. Then I simply drift away into thought.
Mahasi versus Goenka versus Pa Auk feels less like a genuine inquiry Mahasi Sayadaw and more like a way for my mind to stay busy. As long as it's "method-shopping," it doesn't have to face the raw reality of the moment. Or the fact that no matter the system, I still have to sit with myself, night after night.
I can feel the blood returning to my feet—that stinging sensation. I attempt to just observe the sensation. The urge to move pulses underneath the surface. I enter into an internal treaty. Five more breaths. Then maybe I will shift. That deal falls apart almost immediately. It doesn't matter.
I don't feel resolved. The fog has not lifted. I feel human. A bit lost, a little fatigued, yet still present on the cushion. The "Mahasi vs. Goenka" thoughts are still there, but they no longer have the power to derail the sit. I make no effort to find a winner. I don’t need to. Currently, it is sufficient to observe that this is the mind's natural reaction to silence.