The figure of Bhante Sujiva and the technical stages of Vipassanā often loom over my practice, turning a moment of awareness into a secret search for achievement. 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’s on low, clicking every few seconds like it’s reminding me time exists. My ankle is tight; I move it, then catch myself moving, then start a mental debate about whether that movement "counts" against my stillness.
The Map is Not the Territory
I think of Bhante Sujiva whenever I find myself scanning my experience for symptoms of a specific stage. I am flooded with technical terms: the Progress of Insight, the various Ñāṇas, the developmental maps.
I feel burdened by a spiritual "to-do list" of stages that I never actually signed up for. I pretend to be disinterested in the maps, but I quickly find myself wondering if a specific feeling was a sign of "something deeper."
I experienced a momentary window of clarity—extremely short-lived—where sensations felt distinct, rapid, and vibrating. My mind immediately jumped in like, "oh, this could be that stage." Or at least close. Maybe adjacent. 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
I feel a constriction in my chest—not quite anxiety, but a sense of unfulfilled expectation. 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. My consciousness is stuck on a loop of memorized and highlighted spiritual phrases.
Knowledge of arising and passing.
Dissolution.
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 more info 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. I am constantly asking: "Is this genuine wisdom or mere agitation? Is this true balance or just a lack of interest?" I feel ridiculous thinking this way and also unable to stop.
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. The laughter provides a temporary release, before the internal auditor starts questioning the "equanimity" of the laugh.
The Exhaustion of the Report Card
I recall Bhante Sujiva’s advice to avoid attachment to the maps and to allow the path to reveal itself. 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 focus on the subtle ringing in my ears and instantly think: "My concentration must be getting sharper." I find my own behavior tiresome; I crave a sit that isn't a performance or a test.
The fan continues its rhythm. My foot becomes numb, then begins to tingle. I remain still—or at least I intend to. I catch a part of my mind negotiating the moment I will finally shift. I observe the intent but refuse to give it a name. 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 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 sensations keep changing. The thoughts keep checking. The body keeps sitting. 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.