The figure of Bhante Sujiva and the technical stages of Vipassanā often loom over my practice, turning a moment of awareness into a secret search for achievement. 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. I notice a stiffness in my left ankle and adjust it reflexively, only to immediately analyze the movement and its impact on my practice. This is the loop I am in tonight.
The Map is Not the Territory
The image of Bhante Sujiva surfaces the moment I begin searching for physical or mental indicators of "progress." I am flooded with technical terms: the Progress of Insight, the various Ñāṇas, the developmental maps.
All those words line up in my head like a checklist I never officially agreed to but somehow feel responsible for completing. I pretend to be disinterested in the maps, but I quickly find myself wondering if a specific feeling was a sign of "something deeper."
Earlier in the sit there was this brief clarity. Very brief. Sensations sharp, fast, almost flickering. The ego wasted no time, attempting to label the experience: "Is this Arising and Passing away? Is it close?" The narrative destroyed the presence immediately—or perhaps the narrative is the drama I'm creating. Everything feels slippery once the mind starts narrating.
The Pokémon Cards of the Dhamma
My chest feels tight now. Not anxiety exactly. More like anticipation that went nowhere. I am aware of my uneven breath, yet I have no desire to "fix" it tonight. 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.
Insight into Udayabbaya.
Bhaṅga.
The Dukkha-ñāṇas: Fear, Misery, and the urge to escape.
I hate how familiar those labels feel. Like I’m collecting Pokémon cards instead of actually sitting.
The Dangerous Precision of Bhante Sujiva
Bhante Sujiva’s clarity is what gets me. The way he lays things out so cleanly. It’s helpful. And dangerous. It is beneficial as it provides a vocabulary for the wordless. Dangerous because now every twitch, every mental shift gets evaluated. Is this more info insight or just restlessness? Is this boredom or equanimity-lite? I feel ridiculous thinking this way and also unable to stop.
My right knee aches again. Same spot as yesterday. I focus on it. Warmth, compression, and pulsing—immediately followed by the thought: "Is this a Dukkha stage? Is this the Dark Night?" I find a moment of humor in the fact that the body doesn't read the maps; it just feels the ache. For a brief moment, that humor creates space, until the mind returns to scrutinize the laughter itself.
The Exhaustion of the Report Card
I recall Bhante Sujiva’s advice to avoid attachment to the maps and to allow the path to reveal itself. I agree with the concept intellectually. Yet, in the solitude of the night, I instinctively begin to evaluate myself with a hidden yardstick. Deep-seated patterns are difficult to break, particularly when they are disguised as "practice."
I hear a constant hum in my ears; upon noticing it, I immediately conclude that my sensory sensitivity is heightened. I find my own behavior tiresome; I crave a sit that isn't a performance or a test.
The fan continues its rhythm. My foot becomes numb, then begins to tingle. I remain still—or at least I intend to. Part of me is already planning when I’ll move. I notice that planning. I don’t label it. I am refusing to use technical notes this evening; they feel like an unnecessary weight.
The Vipassanā Ñāṇas offer both a sense of direction and a sense of pressure. It is the comfort of a roadmap combined with the exhaustion of seeing the long road ahead. I doubt Bhante Sujiva intended for these teachings to become a source of late-night self-criticism, yet that is my reality.
Resolution remains out of reach, and I refuse to categorize my position on the spiritual path. The somatic data fluctuates, the mind continues its audit, and the physical form remains on the cushion. Somewhere under all that, there’s still awareness happening, imperfect, tangled up with doubt and wanting and comparison. I remain present with this reality, not as a "milestone," but because it is the only truth I have, regardless of the map.