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. It’s 2:03 a.m. and I’m awake for no good reason. The kind of awake where the body’s tired but the mind’s doing inventory. 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.
All those words line up in my head like a checklist I never officially agreed to but somehow feel responsible for completing. I claim to be beyond "stage-chasing," yet minutes later I am evaluating a sensation as a potential milestone.
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 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
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. The mind keeps looping through phrases I’ve read, heard, underlined.
Insight into Udayabbaya.
The experience of Dissolution.
The "Dark Night" stages of Fear and Misery.
I hate how familiar those labels feel. Like I’m collecting Pokémon cards instead of actually sitting.
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 is beneficial as it provides a vocabulary for the wordless. Dangerous because now every twitch, every mental shift gets evaluated. 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.
My right knee aches again. Same spot as yesterday. I focus on it. Warmth, compression, and pulsing—immediately followed by the thought: "Is this a Dukkha stage? Is this the Dark Night?" 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 his words about the danger of clinging to the stages and the importance of natural progression. It sounds perfectly logical in theory. But here I am, in the dark, using an invisible ruler to see "how far" I've gone. It's hard to drop the habit of achievement when you've rebranded it as "spiritual growth."
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 find my own behavior tiresome; I crave a sit that isn't a performance or a test.
The fan clicks again. My foot tingles. Pins and needles creep up slowly. I stay. Or I think I stay. 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 the comfort of a roadmap combined with the exhaustion of seeing the long road ahead. The maps were meant to be helpful guides, not 2 a.m. interrogation tools, but I am using them for the latter anyway.
I don’t reach clarity tonight. I don’t place myself anywhere on the map. The sensations keep changing. The thoughts keep checking. The body keeps sitting. Somewhere under all that, there’s still awareness happening, imperfect, tangled up with doubt and wanting here 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.