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. 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
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.
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 internal play-by-play broke the flow, or perhaps I am simply overthinking the interruption. 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 notice my breathing is uneven. Short inhale, longer exhale. I don’t adjust it. I am exhausted by the constant need for correction. My consciousness is stuck on a loop of memorized and highlighted spiritual phrases.
Knowledge of arising and passing.
The experience of 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
Bhante Sujiva’s clarity is what gets me. The way he lays things out so cleanly. It’s helpful. And dangerous. Helpful because it gives language to experience. Dangerous because now every twitch, every mental shift gets evaluated. 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 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. 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. Yet, in the solitude of the night, I instinctively begin to evaluate myself with a hidden yardstick. 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 am sick of my own internal grading system; I just want to be present without the "report card."
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. here I am refusing to use technical notes this evening; they feel like an unnecessary weight.
Insight stages feel both comforting and oppressive. It is like having a map that tells you exactly how much further you have to travel. 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.