i keep replaying mahasi, goenka, pa auk in my mind and somehow forget the simple act of sitting

It is just before 2 a.m., and there is a lingering heat in the room that even the open window cannot quite dispel. I can detect the faint, earthy aroma of wet pavement from a distant downpour. I feel a sharp tension in my lumbar region. 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 such a position exists, I certainly haven't found a way to sustain it.

My mind is stuck in an endless loop of sectarian comparisons, acting like a courtroom that never goes into recess. The labels keep swirling: Mahasi, Goenka, Pa Auk; noting versus scanning; Samatha versus Vipassana. I feel like I am toggling through different spiritual software, hoping one of them will finally crash the rest and leave me in peace. This habit is both annoying and somewhat humiliating to admit. I claim to be finished with technique-shopping, yet I am still here, assigning grades to different methods instead of just sitting.

Earlier this evening, I made an effort to stay with the simple sensation of breathing. It should have been straightforward. 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 voice doesn't just whisper; it interrogates. I didn't even notice the tension building in my jaw. By the time I became aware, the internal narrative had taken over completely.

I remember a Goenka retreat where the structure felt so incredibly contained. The routine was my anchor. I didn't have to think; I only had to follow the pre-recorded voice. There was a profound security in that lack of autonomy. And then I recall sitting alone months later, without the retreat's support, and suddenly all the doubts arrived like they had been waiting in the shadows. I thought of the rigorous standards of Pa Auk, and suddenly my own restless sitting felt like "cutting corners." I felt like I was being lazy, even in the privacy of my own room.

The irony is that when I am actually paying attention, even for a few brief seconds, all that comparison vanishes. Only for a moment, but it is real. There is a moment where sensation is just sensation. Heat in the knee. Pressure in the seat. The whine of a mosquito near my ear. Then the mind rushes back in, asking: "Wait, which system does this experience belong to?" It is almost comical.

I felt the vibration of a random alert on my device earlier. I stayed on the cushion, but then my mind immediately started congratulating itself, which felt pathetic. See? The same pattern. Ranking. Measuring. I click here wonder how much mental energy I squander just trying to ensure I am doing it "correctly," whatever that even means anymore.

I become aware of a constriction in my breath. I choose not to manipulate the rhythm. I've realized that the act of "trying to relax" is itself a form of agitation. The fan clicks on, then off. I find the sound disproportionately annoying. I label that irritation mentally, then realize I am only labeling because I think it's what a "good" meditator would do. Then I give up on the technique entirely just to be defiant. Then I forget what I was doing entirely.

The debate between these systems seems more like a distraction than a real question. If it keeps comparing, it doesn't have to sit still with the discomfort of uncertainty. Or the fact that no matter the system, I still have to sit with myself, night after night.

I can feel the blood returning to my feet—that stinging sensation. I let it happen. Or I try to. The urge to move pulses underneath the surface. I negotiate. I tell myself I'll stay for five more breaths before I allow an adjustment. The negotiation fails before the third breath. So be it.

There is no final answer. The fog has not lifted. I feel profoundly ordinary. A bit lost, a little fatigued, yet still present on the cushion. The internal debate continues, but it has faded into a dull hum in the background. I don’t settle them. I don’t need to. It is enough to just witness this mental theater, knowing that I am still here, breathing through it all.