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. 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. A low-speed fan clicks rhythmically, serving as a mechanical reminder of the passing seconds. 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
Bhante Sujiva drifts into my thoughts when I start mentally scanning myself for signs. 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 tell myself I’m not chasing stages. Then five minutes later I’m like, "okay but that felt like something, right?"
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. Reality becomes elusive the moment the internal dialogue begins.
The Pokémon Cards of the Dhamma
There is a tightness in my heart, a physical echo of an anticipation that failed to deliver. I am aware of my uneven breath, yet I have no desire to "fix" it tonight. I have lost the will to micro-manage my experience this evening. I find myself repeating technical terms I've studied and underlined in books.
Insight into Udayabbaya.
Dissolution.
The Dukkha-ñāṇas: Fear, Misery, and the urge to escape.
I resent how accessible these labels are; it feels more like amassing "spiritual assets" than actually practicing.
The Dangerous Precision of Bhante Sujiva
The crystalline clarity of Bhante Sujiva’s teaching is both a blessing and a burden. It helps more info by providing a map for the terrain of the mind. It is perilous because it subjects every minor sensation to an internal audit. Is this insight or just restlessness? Is this boredom or equanimity-lite? I recognize the absurdity of this analytical habit, yet I cannot seem to quit.
My right knee aches again. Same spot as yesterday. I focus on it. I note the somatic data, but then the mind asks: "Is this the 'Fear' stage? Is this 'Misery'?" I find a moment of humor in the fact that the body doesn't read the maps; it just feels the ache. The laughter provides a temporary release, before the internal auditor starts questioning the "equanimity" of the laugh.
The Exhaustion of the Report Card
I remember reading Bhante Sujiva saying something about not clinging to stages, about practice unfolding naturally. I agree with the concept intellectually. Then I come here, alone, late at night, and immediately start measuring myself against an invisible ruler. Old habits die hard. Especially the ones that feel spiritual.
There’s a hum in my ears. Always there if I listen. I listen. Then I think, "oh, noticing subtle sound, that’s a sign of sensitivity increasing." I roll my eyes at myself. This is exhausting. I just want to sit without turning it into a report card.
The fan continues its rhythm. My foot becomes numb, then begins to tingle. I remain still—or at least I intend to. Part of me is already planning when I’ll move. I notice that planning. I don’t label it. 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. Like knowing there’s a path but also knowing exactly how far you might still have to walk. 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 feelings come and go, the mind checks the progress, and the body just sits there. Somewhere under all that, there’s still awareness happening, imperfect, tangled up with doubt and wanting and comparison. 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.