Bhante Sujiva and these insight stages keep haunting my sits like I’m secretly checking progress instead of paying attention. 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
The image of Bhante Sujiva surfaces the moment I begin searching for physical or mental indicators of "progress." I am flooded with technical terms: the Progress of Insight, the various Ñāṇas, the developmental maps.
All those words line up in my head like a checklist I never officially agreed to but somehow feel responsible for completing. I pretend to be disinterested in the maps, but I quickly find myself wondering if a specific feeling was a sign of "something deeper."
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
My chest feels tight now. Not anxiety exactly. More like anticipation that went nowhere. My breathing is irregular, with a brief inhalation followed by a protracted exhalation, but I refuse to manipulate it. I’m tired of adjusting things tonight. I find myself repeating technical terms I've studied and underlined in books.
Knowledge of arising and passing.
The experience of Dissolution.
Fear, Misery, and the Desire for Deliverance.
I hate how familiar those labels feel. Like I’m collecting Pokémon cards instead of actually sitting.
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. It is perilous because it subjects every minor sensation to an internal audit. click here I find myself caught in the trap of evaluating: "Is this an insight stage or just a sore back?" I recognize the absurdity of this analytical habit, yet I cannot seem to quit.
My knee is throbbing again, right where it was last night. I observe the heat and pressure. 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. 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 his words about the danger of clinging to the stages and the importance of natural progression. I nod internally when I read that. Makes sense. Then I come here, alone, late at night, and immediately start measuring myself against an invisible ruler. Deep-seated patterns are difficult 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 find my own behavior tiresome; I crave a sit that isn't a performance or a test.
The fan clicks again. My foot tingles. Pins and needles creep up slowly. I stay. Or I think I 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.
Insight stages feel both comforting and oppressive. It is the comfort of a roadmap combined with the exhaustion of seeing the long road ahead. 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 sensations keep changing. The thoughts keep checking. The body keeps sitting. Deep down, there is just simple awareness, however messy and full of comparison it might be. 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.