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." Progress of insight. Vipassanā ñāṇas. Stages. Maps.
These concepts form an internal checklist that I feel an unearned obligation to fulfill. 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. 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 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. The mind keeps looping through phrases I’ve read, heard, underlined.
Insight into Udayabbaya.
The experience of Dissolution.
The "Dark Night" stages of Fear and Misery.
I resent how accessible these labels are; it feels more like amassing "spiritual assets" than actually practicing.
The Dangerous Precision of Bhante Sujiva
The crystalline clarity of Bhante Sujiva’s teaching is both a blessing and a burden. It is beneficial as it provides a vocabulary for the wordless. It is perilous because it subjects every minor sensation to an internal audit. Is this insight or just restlessness? Is this boredom or equanimity-lite? I am aware of how ridiculous this "spiritual accounting" is, but the habit persists.
The pain in my right knee has returned in the exact same location. I direct my attention get more info there. 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. That laughter loosens something for a second. Then the mind rushes back in to analyze the laughter.
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. 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 focus on the subtle ringing in my ears and instantly think: "My concentration must be getting sharper." I am sick of my own internal grading system; I just want to be present without the "report card."
Another click of the fan. The "static" of pins and needles fills my foot. I choose to stay. I catch a part of my mind negotiating the moment I will finally shift. I observe the intent but refuse to give it a name. I'm done with the "noting" for now; the words feel too heavy in this silence.
Insight stages feel both comforting and oppressive. Like knowing there’s a path but also knowing exactly how far you might still have to walk. 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.
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 stay with that, not because it feels advanced, but because it’s what’s actually here, right now, no matter what stage I wish it was.