I find that Bhante Sujiva’s maps and the stages of insight follow me into my meditation, making me feel as though I am constantly auditing my progress rather than simply being present. 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 hums on its lowest setting, its repetitive click marking the time in the silence. 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
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 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 internal play-by-play broke the flow, or perhaps I am simply overthinking the interruption. 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 have lost the will to micro-manage my experience this evening. I find myself repeating technical terms I've studied and underlined in books.
The stage of Arising and Passing.
The experience of Dissolution.
Fear, Misery, and the Desire for Deliverance.
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
The crystalline clarity of Bhante Sujiva’s teaching is both a blessing and a burden. It helps by providing a map for the terrain of the mind. It becomes a problem when every mental flicker is subjected to a "pass/fail" test. website 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. 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. 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. 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 am sick of my own internal grading system; I just want to be present without the "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 don’t want to label anything right now. Labels feel heavy tonight.
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. 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.
Resolution remains out of reach, and I refuse to categorize my position on the spiritual path. 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 remain present with this reality, not as a "milestone," but because it is the only truth I have, regardless of the map.