haunted by bhante sujiva and insight stages, i notice myself tracking progress instead of sensationsi sit down with bhante sujiva’s insight stages in my head and end up watching progress instead of mind

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 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
The image of Bhante Sujiva surfaces the moment I begin searching for physical or mental indicators of "progress." The vocabulary of the path—Vipassanā Ñāṇas, stages, and spiritual maps—fills my head.

I feel burdened by a spiritual "to-do list" of stages that I never actually signed up for. I claim to be beyond "stage-chasing," yet minutes later I am evaluating a sensation as a potential milestone.

Earlier in the sit there was this brief clarity. Very brief. Sensations sharp, fast, almost flickering. 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
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’m tired of adjusting things tonight. I find myself repeating technical terms I've studied and underlined in books.

The stage of Arising and Passing.

Bhaṅga.

The "Dark Night" stages of Fear and Misery.

I resent how accessible these labels are; it feels more like amassing "spiritual assets" than actually practicing.

The Dangerous Precision of Bhante Sujiva
I am struck by Bhante Sujiva’s precise explanations; they are simultaneously a guide and a trap. Helpful because it gives language to experience. 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 am aware of how ridiculous this "spiritual accounting" is, but the habit persists.

The pain in my right knee has returned in the exact same location. I direct my attention there. 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. That laughter loosens something for a second. Then the mind rushes back in to analyze the laughter.

The Exhaustion of the Report Card
I remember his words about the danger of clinging to the stages and the importance of natural progression. I agree with the concept intellectually. 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 read more 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 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 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.

I don’t reach clarity tonight. I don’t place myself anywhere on the map. The somatic data fluctuates, the mind continues its audit, and the physical form remains on the cushion. Beneath the noise, a flawed awareness persists, messy and interwoven with uncertainty and desire. 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.