The time is nearly 2:00 a.m., and my bedroom feels uncomfortably warm even with a slight breeze coming through the window. The air carries that humid, midnight smell, like the ghost of a rain that fell in another neighborhood. 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. It is a myth. And even if it did exist, I suspect I would only find it for a second before it vanished again.
My consciousness keeps running these technical comparisons like an internal debate society that refuses to adjourn. 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. This habit is both annoying and somewhat humiliating to admit. I claim to be finished with technique-shopping, yet I am still here, assigning grades to different methods instead of just sitting.
A few hours ago, I tried to focus solely on anapanasati. A task that is ostensibly simple. Suddenly, the internal critic jumped in, asking if I was following the Mahasi noting method or a more standard breath awareness. 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. By the time I noticed, the mental commentary had already seized control.
I think back to my time in the Goenka tradition, where the rigid environment provided such a strong container. The routine was my anchor. There were no decisions to make and no questions to ask; I just had to follow the path. That felt secure. 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 that when I am actually paying attention, even for a few brief seconds, all that comparison vanishes. Not permanently, but briefly. There is a moment where sensation is just sensation. The burning sensation in my leg. The feeling of gravity. A distant insect noise. Then the ego returns, frantically trying to categorize the sensation into a specific Buddhist framework. It is almost comical.
A notification light flashed on my phone a while ago. I didn't check it immediately, which felt like a minor achievement, and then I felt ridiculous for feeling proud. See? The same pattern. 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 become aware of a constriction in my breath. I choose not to manipulate the rhythm. I have learned that forcing a sense of "calm" only adds a new layer of tension. I hear the fan cycle through its mechanical clicks. I find the sound disproportionately annoying. I note the "irritation," then click here realize I am just performing the Mahasi method for an invisible audience. Then I stop labeling out of spite. Then I simply drift away into thought.
The debate between these systems seems more like a distraction than a real question. 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.
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. "Just five more inhalations, and then I'll move." That deal falls apart almost immediately. It doesn't matter.
I don't feel resolved. The fog has not lifted. I feel profoundly ordinary. 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. For now, it is enough to notice that this is simply what the mind does when the world gets quiet.