The time is nearly 2:00 a.m., and my bedroom feels uncomfortably warm even with a slight breeze coming through the window. There is a distinct scent of damp night air, reminiscent of a rainstorm that has already occurred elsewhere. I feel a sharp tension in my lumbar region. I keep moving, then stopping, then fidgeting once more, as if I still believe the "ideal" posture actually exists. It doesn’t. Or if it does exist, I have never managed to inhabit it for more than a few fleeting moments.
I find my thoughts constantly weighing one system against another, like a mental debate club that doesn't know when to quit. Mahasi. Goenka. Pa Auk. Noting. Breath. Samatha. Vipassana. 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 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. Simple. Or at least it was supposed to be. Then the mind started questioning the technique: "Is this Mahasi abdominal movement or Pa Auk breath at the nostrils?" Are you missing a detail? Is the mind dull? Should you be noting this sensation right now? That internal dialogue is not a suggestion; it is a cross-examination. My jaw clenched without me even realizing it. By the time I became aware, the internal narrative had taken over completely.
I remember a Goenka retreat where the structure felt so incredibly contained. The timetable held me together. I didn't have to think; I only had to follow the pre-recorded voice. It provided a sense of safety. 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. Pa Auk floated into my thoughts too—all that talk of profound depth and Jhanic absorption—and suddenly my own scattered attention felt inferior. Like I was cheating, even though there was no one there to watch.
The irony is get more info that when I am actually paying attention, even for a few brief seconds, all that comparison vanishes. It is a temporary but powerful silence. For a second, there is only the raw data of experience. Warmth in the joint. The weight of the body on the cushion. The high-pitched sound of a bug nearby. Then the ego returns, frantically trying to categorize the sensation into a specific Buddhist framework. I almost laugh sometimes.
My phone buzzed earlier with a random notification. I resisted the urge to look, which felt like progress, but then I felt stupid for needing that small win. It is the same cycle. Endlessly calculating. Endlessly evaluating. I wonder how much mental energy I squander just trying to ensure I am doing it "correctly," whatever that even means anymore.
I realize I am breathing from the chest once more. I refrain from forcing a deeper breath. I have learned that forcing a sense of "calm" only adds a new layer of tension. The fan clicks on, then off. The noise irritates me more than it should. I note the "irritation," then realize I am just performing the Mahasi method for an invisible audience. Then I stop labeling out of spite. Then I lose my focus completely.
The debate between these systems seems more like a distraction than a real question. If it keeps comparing, it doesn't have to sit still with the discomfort of uncertainty. Or the realization that no technique will magically eliminate the boredom and the doubt.
My legs are tingling now. Pins and needles. I attempt to just observe the sensation. The urge to move pulses underneath the surface. I negotiate. "Just five more inhalations, and then I'll move." The negotiation fails before the third breath. Whatever.
I don't feel resolved. I don't feel clear. I just feel like myself. Confused. Slightly tired. Still showing up. The internal debate continues, but it has faded into a dull hum in the background. I make no effort to find a winner. It isn't necessary. It is enough to just witness this mental theater, knowing that I am still here, breathing through it all.