I find that Bhante Sujiva’s maps and the stages of insight follow me into my meditation, making me feel as though I am constantly auditing my progress rather than simply being present. The clock reads 2:03 a.m., and I am wide awake without cause—that specific state where the physical body is exhausted but the mind is busy calculating. The fan’s on low, clicking every few seconds like it’s reminding me time exists. My left ankle feels stiff. I rotate it without thinking. Then I realize I moved. Then I wonder if that mattered. That’s how tonight’s going.
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.
All those words line up in my head like a checklist I never officially agreed to but somehow feel responsible for completing. 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. Instantly, the mind intervened, trying to categorize the experience as a specific insight stage or something near it. The narrative destroyed the presence immediately—or perhaps the narrative is the drama I'm creating. 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 am exhausted by the constant need for correction. My consciousness is stuck on a loop of memorized and highlighted spiritual phrases.
The stage of Arising and Passing.
Bhaṅga.
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
Bhante Sujiva’s clarity is what gets me. The way he lays things out so cleanly. It’s helpful. And dangerous. It is beneficial as it provides a vocabulary for the wordless. It becomes a problem when every mental flicker is subjected to a "pass/fail" test. I find myself caught in the trap of evaluating: "Is this an insight stage or just a sore back?" I feel ridiculous thinking this way and also unable to stop.
My right knee aches again. Same spot as yesterday. I focus on it. 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 his words about the danger of clinging to the stages and the importance of natural progression. I agree with the concept intellectually. But here I am, in the dark, using an invisible ruler to see "how far" I've gone. Deep-seated patterns are difficult click here to break, particularly when they are disguised as "practice."
I hear a constant hum in my ears; upon noticing it, I immediately conclude that my sensory sensitivity is heightened. I roll my eyes at myself. This is exhausting. I just want to sit without turning it into a 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'm done with the "noting" for now; the words feel too heavy in this silence.
The Vipassanā Ñāṇas offer both a sense of direction and a sense of pressure. It is like having a map that tells you exactly how much further you have to travel. I doubt Bhante Sujiva intended for these teachings to become a source of late-night self-criticism, yet that is my reality.
No grand insight arrives, and I decline to "pin" myself to a specific stage on the map. 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 remain present with this reality, not as a "milestone," but because it is the only truth I have, regardless of the map.