It is just before 2 a.m., and there is a lingering heat in the room that even the open window cannot quite dispel. I can detect the faint, earthy aroma of wet pavement from a distant downpour. My lower back is tight and resistant. I keep moving, then stopping, then fidgeting once more, as if I still believe the "ideal" posture actually exists. The perfect posture remains elusive. Or if such a position exists, I certainly haven't found a way to sustain it.
My consciousness keeps running these technical comparisons like an internal debate society that refuses to adjourn. It is a laundry list of techniques: Mahasi-style noting, Goenka-style scanning, Pa Auk-style concentration. It feels as though I am scrolling through a series of invisible browser tabs, clicking back and forth, desperate for one of them to provide enough certainty to silence the others. I find this method-shopping at 2 a.m. to be both irritating and deeply humbling. I tell myself that I have moved past this kind of "spiritual consumerism," and yet here I am, mentally ranking lineages instead of actually practicing.
Earlier this evening, I made an effort to stay with the simple sensation of breathing. Simple. Or at least it was supposed to be. Then my mind intervened with an interrogation: are you watching it Mahasi-style or more like traditional anapanasati? Is there a gap in your awareness? Are you becoming sleepy? Do you need to note that itch? That internal dialogue is not a suggestion; it is a cross-examination. 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 remember a Goenka retreat where the structure felt so incredibly contained. The timetable held me together. There were no decisions to make and no questions to ask; I just had to follow the path. There was a profound security in that lack of autonomy. And then I recall sitting alone months later, without the retreat's support, and suddenly all the doubts arrived like they had been waiting in the shadows. The technical depth of the Pa Auk method crossed my mind, making my own wandering mind feel like I was somehow failing. It felt like I was being insincere, even though I was the only witness.
The funny thing is that in those moments of genuine awareness, the debate disappears instantly. It is a temporary but powerful silence. There is a flash of time where the knee pain is just heat and pressure. Heat in the knee. Pressure in the seat. The whine of a mosquito near my ear. Then the ego returns, frantically trying to categorize the sensation into a specific Buddhist framework. It would be funny if it weren't so frustrating.
A notification light flashed on my phone a while ago. I stayed on the cushion, but then my mind immediately started congratulating itself, which felt pathetic. See? The same here pattern. Ranking. Measuring. I think about the sheer volume of energy I lose to the fear of practicing incorrectly.
I realize I am breathing from the chest once more. I don't try to deepen it. I have learned that forcing a sense of "calm" only adds a new layer of tension. The fan makes its rhythmic clicking sound. The noise irritates me more than it should. I apply a label to the feeling, then catch myself doing it out of a sense of obligation. Then I quit the noting process out of pure stubbornness. Then I lose my focus completely.
Comparing these lineages is just another way for my mind to avoid the silence. As long as it's "method-shopping," it doesn't have to face the raw reality of the moment. Or the realization that no technique will magically eliminate the boredom and the doubt.
My lower limbs have gone numb and are now prickling. I attempt to just observe the sensation. There is a deep, instinctive push to change my position. I start bargaining with myself. Five more breaths. Then maybe I will shift. That deal falls apart almost immediately. Whatever.
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 don’t settle them. That isn't the point. Currently, it is sufficient to observe that this is the mind's natural reaction to silence.