The time is nearly 2:00 a.m., and my bedroom feels uncomfortably warm even with a slight breeze coming through the window. I can detect the faint, earthy aroma of wet pavement from a distant downpour. My lower back is tight and resistant. I keep moving, then stopping, then fidgeting once more, as if I still believe the "ideal" posture actually exists. It doesn’t. And even if it did exist, I suspect I would only find it for a second before it vanished again.
I find my thoughts constantly weighing one system against another, like a mental debate club that doesn't know when to quit. 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. This habit is both annoying and somewhat humiliating to admit. I pretend to be above the "search," but in reality, I am still comparing "products" in the middle of the night instead of doing the work.
Earlier this evening, I made an effort to stay with the simple sensation of breathing. It should have been straightforward. Then the mind started questioning the technique: "Is this Mahasi abdominal movement or Pa Auk breath at the nostrils?" Is there a gap in your awareness? Are you becoming sleepy? Do you need to note that itch? That internal dialogue is not a suggestion; it is a cross-examination. My jaw clenched without me even realizing it. Once I recognized the tension, the "teacher" in my head had already won.
I recall the feeling of safety on a Goenka retreat, where the schedule was absolute. The lack of choice was a relief. No choices. No questions. Just follow the instructions. That felt secure. But then, months later and without that structure, the doubts returned as if they had been lurking in the background all along. Pa Auk floated into my thoughts too—all that talk of profound depth and Jhanic absorption—and suddenly my own scattered attention felt inferior. 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. For a second, there is only the raw data of experience. Heat in the knee. Pressure in the seat. The whine of a mosquito near my ear. Then the ego returns, frantically trying to categorize the sensation into a specific Buddhist framework. I almost laugh sometimes.
A notification light flashed on my phone a while ago. I resisted the urge to look, which felt like progress, but then I felt stupid for needing that small win. See? The same pattern. Ranking. Measuring. I speculate on the amount of effort I waste on the anxiety of "getting it right."
I realize I am breathing from the chest once more. I refrain from forcing a deeper breath. I've realized that the act of "trying to relax" is itself a form of agitation. I hear the fan cycle through its mechanical clicks. The noise irritates check here me more than it should. I label that irritation mentally, then realize I am only labeling because I think it's what a "good" meditator would do. Then I stop labeling out of spite. Then I simply drift away into thought.
The debate between these systems seems more like a distraction than a real question. If it keeps comparing, it doesn't have to sit still with the discomfort of uncertainty. Or the fact that no matter the system, I still have to sit with myself, night after night.
My lower limbs have gone numb and are now prickling. I attempt to just observe the sensation. The urge to move pulses underneath the surface. I negotiate. I tell myself I'll stay for five more breaths before I allow an adjustment. That deal falls apart almost immediately. It doesn't matter.
There is no final answer. The fog has not lifted. I feel human. Confused. Slightly tired. Still showing up. The "Mahasi vs. Goenka" thoughts are still there, but they no longer have the power to derail the sit. I make no effort to find a winner. I don’t need to. For now, it is enough to notice that this is simply what the mind does when the world gets quiet.