The clock reads 2:18 a.m., and a persistent, dull ache in my right knee is competing for my attention—not enough to force a shift, but plenty to destroy my calm. The ground seems more unforgiving tonight than it was twenty-four hours ago, a physical impossibility that I nonetheless believe completely. Aside from the faint, fading drone of a far-off motorcycle, the room is perfectly quiet. I find myself sweating a bit, even though the night air is relatively temperate. The mind wastes no time in turning this physical state into a technical failure.
The Anatomy of Pain-Plus-Meaning
Chanmyay pain. That phrase appears like a label affixed to the physical sensation. I didn't consciously choose the word; it just manifested. What was once just sensation is now "pain-plus-interpretation."
I start questioning my technique: is my noting too sharp or too soft? Am I feeding the pain by focusing on it so relentlessly? The actual ache in my knee is dwarfed by the massive cloud of analytical thoughts surrounding it.
The "Chanmyay Doubt" Loop
I make an effort to observe only the physical qualities: the heat and the pressure. Then, uncertainty arrives on silent feet, pretending to be a helpful technical question. Chanmyay doubt. Perhaps I am over-efforting. Perhaps I'm being too passive, or I've missed a fundamental step in the instructions.
There is a fear that my entire meditative history is based on a tiny, uncorrected misunderstanding.
The fear of "wrong practice" is much sharper than any somatic sensation. I find myself fidgeting with my spine, stopping, and then moving again because I can't find the center. The tension in my back increases, a physical rebellion against my lack of trust. There’s a tight ball in my chest—not exactly pain, but a dense unease.
Communal Endurance vs. Private Failure
On retreat, the discomfort seemed easier to bear because it was shared with others. Back then, the pain was "just pain"; now, it feels like "my failure." Like a solitary trial that I am proving to be unworthy of. The thought "this is wrong practice" repeats like a haunting mantra in my mind. The fear is that I'm just hardening my ego rather than dissolving it.
The Trap of "Proof" and False Relief
I read a passage on the dangers of over-striving, and my mind screamed, "See? This is you!" “See? This explains everything. You’ve been doing it wrong.” The idea is a toxic blend of comfort and terror. Relief because there is an explanation; panic because fixing it feels overwhelming. The tension is palpable as I sit, my jaw locked tight. I consciously soften my face, only for the tension to return almost immediately.
The Shifting Tide of Discomfort
The pain shifts slightly, which is more annoying than if it had stayed constant. I had hoped for a consistent sensation that I could systematically note. Instead, it pulses, fades, and returns, as if it’s check here intentionally messing with me. I strive for a balanced mind, but I am clearly biased against the pain. I notice the failure. Then I wonder if noticing the failure is progress or just more thinking.
The doubt isn't theatrical; it's a subtle background noise that never stops questioning my integrity. I remain silent in the face of the question, because "I don't know" is the only truth I have. The air is barely moving in my chest, but I leave it alone. Experience has taught me that "fixing" the moment only creates a new layer of artificiality.
I hear the ticking, but I keep my eyes closed. It’s a tiny victory. My limb is losing its feeling, replaced by the familiar static of a leg "falling asleep." I haven't moved yet, but I'm negotiating the exit in my mind. The clarity is gone. All the categories have collapsed into one big, messy, human experience.
I am not leaving this sit with an answer. The discomfort hasn't revealed a grand truth, and the uncertainty is still there. I am just here, acknowledging that "not knowing" is also the path, even if I lack the tools to process it right now. Continuing to breathe, continuing to hurt, continuing to exist. Which feels like the only honest thing happening right now.