Bhante Sujiva and these insight stages keep haunting my sits like I’m secretly checking progress instead of paying attention. It is just past 2 a.m., and I am caught in that restless wakefulness where the body craves sleep but the consciousness is preoccupied with an internal census. The fan’s on low, clicking every few seconds like it’s reminding me time exists. My left ankle feels stiff. I rotate it without thinking. Then I realize I moved. Then I wonder if that mattered. That’s how tonight’s going.
The Map is Not the Territory
Bhante Sujiva drifts into my thoughts when I start mentally scanning myself for signs. Progress of insight. Vipassanā ñāṇas. Stages. Maps.
All those words line up in my head like a checklist I never officially agreed to but somehow feel responsible for completing. I claim to be beyond "stage-chasing," yet minutes later I am evaluating a sensation as a potential milestone.
I experienced a momentary window of clarity—extremely short-lived—where sensations felt distinct, rapid, and vibrating. My mind immediately jumped in like, "oh, this could be that stage." Or at least close. Maybe adjacent. The internal play-by-play broke the flow, or perhaps I am simply overthinking the interruption. Once the mind starts telling a story about the sit, the actual experience vanishes.
The Pokémon Cards of the Dhamma
I feel a constriction in my chest—not quite anxiety, but a sense of unfulfilled expectation. I notice my breathing is uneven. Short inhale, longer exhale. I don’t adjust it. I have lost the will to micro-manage my experience this evening. My consciousness is stuck on a loop of memorized and highlighted spiritual phrases.
Knowledge of arising and passing.
Bhaṅga.
Fear, Misery, and the Desire for Deliverance.
I hate how familiar those labels feel. Like I’m collecting Pokémon cards instead of actually sitting.
The Dangerous Precision of Bhante Sujiva
I am struck by Bhante Sujiva’s precise explanations; they are simultaneously a guide and a trap. It is beneficial as it provides a vocabulary for the wordless. It becomes a problem when every mental flicker is subjected to a "pass/fail" test. I find myself caught in the trap of evaluating: "Is this an insight stage or just a sore back?" I recognize the absurdity of this analytical habit, yet I cannot seem to quit.
My right knee aches again. Same spot as yesterday. I focus on it. Heat. Pressure. Throbbing. Then the thought pops up: pain stage? Dark night? I nearly chuckle to myself; the physical form is indifferent to the map—it simply experiences the pain. The laughter provides a temporary release, before the internal auditor starts questioning the "equanimity" of the laugh.
The Exhaustion of the Report Card
I remember reading Bhante Sujiva saying something about not clinging to stages, about practice unfolding naturally. It sounds perfectly logical in theory. But here I am, in the dark, using an invisible ruler to see "how far" I've gone. Deep-seated patterns are difficult to break, particularly when they are disguised as "practice."
I hear a constant hum in my more info ears; upon noticing it, I immediately conclude that my sensory sensitivity is heightened. I roll my eyes at myself. This is exhausting. I just want to sit without turning it into a report card.
Another click of the fan. The "static" of pins and needles fills my foot. I choose to stay. Part of me is already planning when I’ll move. I notice that planning. I don’t label it. I'm done with the "noting" for now; the words feel too heavy in this silence.
Insight stages feel both comforting and oppressive. It is the comfort of a roadmap combined with the exhaustion of seeing the long road ahead. Bhante Sujiva didn’t put these maps together so people could torture themselves at 2 a.m., but here I am anyway, doing exactly that.
I don’t reach clarity tonight. I don’t place myself anywhere on the map. The feelings come and go, the mind checks the progress, and the body just sits there. Deep down, there is just simple awareness, however messy and full of comparison it might be. I am staying with this imperfect moment, because it is the only thing that is actually real, no matter what stage I'm supposed to be in.