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
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 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. 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. Everything feels slippery once the mind starts narrating.
The Pokémon Cards of the Dhamma
There is a tightness in my heart, a physical echo of an anticipation that failed to deliver. I notice my breathing is uneven. Short inhale, longer exhale. I don’t adjust it. I’m tired of adjusting things tonight. My consciousness is stuck on a loop of memorized and highlighted spiritual phrases.
Insight into Udayabbaya.
Dissolution.
The Dukkha-ñāṇas: Fear, Misery, and the urge to escape.
These labels feel like a collection of items rather than a lived reality—like I'm gathering cards rather than just being here.
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. 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.
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 nearly chuckle to myself; the physical form is indifferent to the map—it simply experiences the pain. 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 reading Bhante Sujiva saying something about not clinging to stages, about practice unfolding naturally. I agree with the concept intellectually. But here I am, in the dark, using an invisible ruler to see "how far" I've gone. Old habits die hard. Especially the ones that feel spiritual.
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 continues its rhythm. My foot becomes numb, then begins to tingle. I remain still—or at least I intend to. 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 check here direction and a sense of pressure. It is the comfort of a roadmap combined with the exhaustion of seeing the long road ahead. Bhante Sujiva didn’t put these maps together so people could torture themselves at 2 a.m., but here I am anyway, doing exactly that.
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 am staying with this imperfect moment, because it is the only thing that is actually real, no matter what stage I'm supposed to be in.