stuck comparing mahasi, goenka, pa auk in my thoughts when all i meant to do was sit

The time is nearly 2:00 a.m., and my bedroom feels uncomfortably warm even with a slight breeze coming through the window. The air carries that humid, midnight smell, like the ghost of a rain that fell in another neighborhood. There is a dull, persistent ache in my lower spine. I am caught in a cycle of adjusting and re-adjusting, still under the misguided impression that I can find a spot that doesn't hurt. It doesn’t. Or if it does exist, I have never managed to inhabit it for more than a few fleeting moments.

I find my thoughts constantly weighing one system against another, like a mental debate club that doesn't know when to quit. It is a laundry list of techniques: Mahasi-style noting, Goenka-style scanning, Pa Auk-style concentration. It feels as though I am scrolling through a series of invisible browser tabs, clicking back and forth, desperate for one of them to provide enough certainty to silence the others. This habit is both annoying and somewhat humiliating to admit. I tell myself that I have moved past this kind of "spiritual consumerism," and yet here I am, mentally ranking lineages instead of actually practicing.

Earlier tonight, I attempted to simply observe the breath. A task that is ostensibly simple. Then the mind started questioning the technique: "Is this Mahasi abdominal movement or Pa Auk breath at the nostrils?" Are you overlooking something vital? Is there a subtle torpor? Should you be labeling this thought? That internal dialogue is not a suggestion; it is a cross-examination. I found my teeth grinding together before I was even aware of the stress. Once I recognized the tension, the "teacher" in my head had already won.

I think back to my time in the Goenka tradition, where the rigid environment provided such a strong container. The routine was my anchor. There were no decisions to make and no questions to ask; I just had to follow the path. There was a profound security in that lack of autonomy. But then, months later and without that structure, the doubts returned as if they had been lurking in the background all along. The technical depth of the Pa Auk method crossed my mind, making my own wandering mind feel like I was somehow failing. Like I was cheating, even though there was no one there to watch.

The funny thing is that in those moments of genuine awareness, the debate disappears instantly. Not permanently, but briefly. There is a moment where sensation is just sensation. Warmth in the joint. The weight of the body on the cushion. The high-pitched sound of a bug nearby. Then the mind rushes back in, asking: "Wait, which system does this experience belong to?" I almost laugh sometimes.

I felt the vibration of click here a random alert on my device earlier. I stayed on the cushion, but then my mind immediately started congratulating itself, which felt pathetic. It is the same cycle. Ranking. Measuring. I speculate on the amount of effort I waste on the anxiety of "getting it right."

I realize I am breathing from the chest once more. I refrain from forcing a deeper breath. I've realized that the act of "trying to relax" is itself a form of agitation. The fan makes its rhythmic clicking sound. The noise irritates me more than it should. I apply a label to the feeling, then catch myself doing it out of a sense of obligation. Then I stop labeling out of spite. Then I simply drift away into thought.

Comparing these lineages is just another way for my mind to avoid the silence. By staying in the debate, the mind avoids the vulnerability of not knowing. Or with the possibility that none of these systems will save me from the slow, daily grind of actually being here.

My lower limbs have gone numb and are now prickling. I try to meet it with equanimity. The urge to move pulses underneath the surface. I negotiate. "Just five more inhalations, and then I'll move." The negotiation fails before the third breath. Whatever.

I have no sense of closure. I am not "awakened." I feel human. Perplexed, exhausted, but still here. The internal debate continues, but it has faded into a dull hum in the background. I make no effort to find a winner. That isn't the point. It is enough to just witness this mental theater, knowing that I am still here, breathing through it all.