Bhante Sujiva and these insight stages keep haunting my sits like I’m secretly checking progress instead of paying attention. 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 hums on its lowest setting, its repetitive click marking the time in the silence. 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." The vocabulary of the path—Vipassanā Ñāṇas, stages, and spiritual maps—fills my head.
I feel burdened by a spiritual "to-do list" of stages that I never actually signed up for. I tell myself I’m not chasing stages. Then five minutes later I’m like, "okay but that felt like something, right?"
I experienced a momentary window of clarity—extremely short-lived—where sensations felt distinct, rapid, and vibrating. Instantly, the mind intervened, trying to categorize the experience as a specific insight stage or something near it. The internal play-by-play broke the flow, or perhaps I am simply overthinking the interruption. 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’m tired of adjusting things tonight. 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.
These labels feel like a collection of items rather than a lived reality—like I'm gathering cards rather than just being here.
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 helps by providing a map for the terrain of the mind. Dangerous because now every twitch, every mental shift gets evaluated. I am constantly asking: "Is this genuine wisdom or mere agitation? Is this true balance or just a lack of interest?" 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 there. Heat. Pressure. Throbbing. Then the thought pops up: pain stage? Dark night? I almost laugh. Out loud, but quietly. The body doesn’t care what stage it’s in. It just hurts. For a brief moment, that humor creates space, until the mind returns to scrutinize the laughter itself.
The Exhaustion of the Report Card
I remember reading Bhante Sujiva saying something about not clinging to stages, about practice unfolding naturally. I nod internally when I read that. Makes sense. But here I am, in the dark, using an invisible ruler to see "how far" I've gone. Deep-seated patterns are difficult to break, particularly when they are disguised as "practice."
There’s a hum in my ears. Always there if I listen. I listen. Then I think, "oh, noticing subtle sound, that’s a sign of sensitivity increasing." 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 see the mind already plotting the "exit strategy" from the pain, but I don't apply a technical note to it. I am refusing to use technical notes this evening; they feel like an unnecessary weight.
The maps of insight are simultaneously a relief and a burden. It is like having a map that tells check here you exactly how much further you have to travel. The maps were meant to be helpful guides, not 2 a.m. interrogation tools, but I am using them for the latter anyway.
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. Beneath the noise, a flawed awareness persists, messy and interwoven with uncertainty and desire. 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.