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. My lower back is tight and resistant. I am caught in a cycle of adjusting and re-adjusting, still under the misguided impression that I can find a spot that doesn't hurt. The perfect posture remains elusive. Or if it does exist, I have never managed to inhabit it for more than a few fleeting moments.
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. 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. It is frustrating and, frankly, a little embarrassing. 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.
A few hours ago, I tried to focus solely on anapanasati. It should have been straightforward. Then my mind intervened with an interrogation: are you watching it Mahasi-style or more like traditional anapanasati? 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. I didn't even notice the tension building in my jaw. By the time I noticed, the mental commentary had already seized control.
I recall the feeling of safety on a Goenka retreat, where the schedule was absolute. The lack of choice was a relief. I didn't have to think; I only had to follow the pre-recorded voice. It provided a sense of safety. Then, sitting in my own check here room without that "safety net," the uncertainty rushed back with a vengeance. The technical depth of the Pa Auk method crossed my mind, making my own wandering mind feel like I was somehow failing. I felt like I was being lazy, even in the privacy of my own room.
Interestingly, when I manage to actually stay present, the need to "pick a side" evaporates. Only for a moment, but it is real. There is a flash of time where the knee pain is just heat and pressure. The burning sensation in my leg. The feeling of gravity. A distant insect noise. Then the mind rushes back in, asking: "Wait, which system does this experience belong to?" I almost laugh sometimes.
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. The same egoic loop. Endlessly calculating. Endlessly evaluating. I speculate on the amount of effort I waste on the anxiety of "getting it right."
I notice my breathing has become shallow again. 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 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. If it keeps comparing, it doesn't have to sit still with the discomfort of uncertainty. Or with the possibility that none of these systems will save me from the slow, daily grind of actually being here.
My legs are tingling now. Pins and needles. I let it happen. Or I try to. There is a deep, instinctive push to change my position. I enter into an internal treaty. Five more breaths. Then maybe I will shift. That deal falls apart almost immediately. Whatever.
I don't feel resolved. I am not "awakened." I feel human. A bit lost, a little fatigued, yet still present on the cushion. The technical comparisons keep looping, but they are softer now, like background noise instead of an active argument. I make no effort to find a winner. That isn't the point. It is enough to just witness this mental theater, knowing that I am still here, breathing through it all.