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 am caught in a cycle of adjusting and re-adjusting, still under the misguided impression that I can find a spot that doesn't hurt. It doesn’t. And even if it did exist, I suspect I would only find it for a second before it vanished again.
My mind is stuck in an endless loop of sectarian comparisons, acting like a courtroom that never goes into recess. Mahasi. Goenka. Pa Auk. Noting. Breath. Samatha. 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 tonight, I attempted to simply observe the breath. Simple. Or at least it was supposed to be. Suddenly, the internal critic jumped in, asking if I was following the Mahasi noting method or a more standard breath awareness. Are you missing a detail? Is the mind dull? Should you be noting this sensation right now? That voice doesn't just whisper; it interrogates. I found my teeth grinding together before I was even aware of the stress. By the time I became aware, the internal narrative had taken over completely.
I remember a Goenka retreat where the structure felt so incredibly contained. The timetable held me together. There were no decisions to make and no questions to ask; I just had to follow the path. There was a profound security in that lack of autonomy. Then, sitting in my own room without that "safety net," the uncertainty rushed back with a vengeance. The technical depth of the Pa Auk method crossed my mind, making my own wandering mind feel like I was somehow failing. It felt like I was being insincere, even though I was the only more info witness.
The irony is that when I am actually paying attention, even for a few brief seconds, all that comparison vanishes. Only for a moment, but it is real. For a second, there is only the raw data of experience. Warmth in the joint. The weight of the body on the cushion. The high-pitched sound of a bug nearby. Then the ego returns, frantically trying to categorize the sensation into a specific Buddhist framework. It is almost comical.
I felt the vibration of a random alert on my device earlier. I didn't check it immediately, which felt like a minor achievement, and then I felt ridiculous for feeling proud. It is the same cycle. Ranking. Measuring. I speculate on the amount of effort I waste on the anxiety of "getting it right."
I become aware of a constriction in my breath. I choose not to manipulate the rhythm. I know from experience that trying to manufacture peace only creates more stress. The fan clicks on, then off. That tiny sound triggers a surge of frustration. I label that irritation mentally, then realize I am only labeling because I think it's what a "good" meditator would do. Then I give up on the technique entirely just to be defiant. Then I lose my focus completely.
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 realization that no technique will magically eliminate the boredom and the doubt.
I can feel the blood returning to my feet—that stinging sensation. I attempt to just observe the sensation. The desire to shift my weight is a throbbing physical demand. I negotiate. Five more breaths. Then maybe I will shift. That deal falls apart almost immediately. It doesn't matter.
I don't feel resolved. The fog has not lifted. I feel profoundly ordinary. A bit lost, a little fatigued, yet still present on the cushion. The internal debate continues, but it has faded into a dull hum in the background. I make no effort to find a winner. That isn't the point. For now, it is enough to notice that this is simply what the mind does when the world gets quiet.