Bhante Sujiva and these insight stages keep haunting my sits like I’m secretly checking progress instead of paying attention. It’s 2:03 a.m. and I’m awake for no good reason. The kind of awake where the body’s tired but the mind’s doing inventory. The fan hums on its lowest setting, its repetitive click marking the time in the silence. My ankle is tight; I move it, then catch myself moving, then start a mental debate about whether that movement "counts" against my stillness.
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.
I feel burdened by a spiritual "to-do list" of stages that I never actually signed up for. I claim to be beyond "stage-chasing," yet minutes later I am evaluating a sensation as a potential milestone.
For a few seconds, the practice felt clear: sensations were sharp, fast-paced, and almost strobe-like. 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
There is a tightness in my heart, a physical echo of an anticipation that failed to deliver. My breathing is irregular, with a brief inhalation followed by a protracted exhalation, but I refuse to manipulate it. I am exhausted by the constant need for correction. The mind keeps looping through phrases I’ve read, heard, underlined.
The stage of Arising and Passing.
The experience of Dissolution.
The "Dark Night" stages of Fear and Misery.
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 helps by providing a map for the terrain of the mind. It is perilous because it subjects every minor sensation to an internal audit. I am constantly asking: "Is this genuine wisdom or mere agitation? Is this true balance or just a lack of interest?" 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. I note the somatic data, but then the mind asks: "Is this the 'Fear' stage? Is this 'Misery'?" 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. I agree with the concept intellectually. But here I am, in the dark, using an invisible ruler to see "how far" I've check here gone. Old habits die hard. Especially the ones that feel spiritual.
I focus on the subtle ringing in my ears and instantly think: "My concentration must be getting sharper." I find my own behavior tiresome; I crave a sit that isn't a performance or a test.
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 am refusing to use technical notes this evening; they feel like an unnecessary weight.
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. I doubt Bhante Sujiva intended for these teachings to become a source of late-night self-criticism, yet that is my reality.
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. Somewhere under all that, there’s still awareness happening, imperfect, tangled up with doubt and wanting and comparison. 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.