It is deep into the night, 2:18 a.m., and my right knee has begun its familiar, needy throbbing; it’s a level of discomfort that sits right on the edge of being unbearable. There is a strange hardness to the floor tonight that wasn't there before; it makes no sense, yet it feels like an absolute truth. The room is silent except for the distant sound of a motorbike that lingers on the edge of hearing. A thin layer of perspiration is forming, though the room temperature is quite cool. 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. The sensation becomes "pain-plus-meaning."
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 raw pain is nothing compared to the complicated mental drama that has built up around it.
The "Chanmyay Doubt" Loop
I attempt to stay with the raw sensation: heat, pressure, throbbing. Then the doubt creeps in quietly, disguised as a reasonable inquiry. "Chanmyay doubt." Maybe my viriya (effort) is too aggressive. Or maybe I'm being lazy, or I've completely misinterpreted the entire method.
There is a fear that my entire meditative history is based on a tiny, uncorrected misunderstanding.
That thought hits harder than the physical pain in my knee. I catch myself subtly adjusting my posture, then freezing, then adjusting again because it feels uneven. My muscles seize up, reacting to the forced adjustments with a sense of protest. There’s a tight ball in my chest—not exactly pain, but a dense unease.
Communal Endurance vs. Private Failure
I remember times on retreat where pain felt manageable because it was communal. Back then, the pain was "just pain"; now, it feels like "my failure." Like a test I am failing in private. I can't stop the internal whisper that tells me I'm reinforcing the wrong habits. The idea that I am reinforcing old patterns instead of uprooting them.
The Trap of "Proof" and False Relief
Earlier today I read something about wrong effort, and my mind seized it like proof. The internal critic felt vindicated: "Finally, proof that you are a failure at meditation." There is a weird sense of "aha!" mixed with a "no!" Relief that the problem has a name, but panic because the solution seems impossible. 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 discomfort changes its quality, a shift that I find incredibly frustrating. I had hoped for a consistent sensation that I could systematically note. Rather, it ebbs and flows, feeling like a dynamic enemy that is playing games with my focus. I strive for a balanced mind, but I am clearly biased against the pain. I note my lack of equanimity, and then I start an intellectual debate about whether that noting was "correct."
This uncertainty isn't a loud shout; it's a constant, quiet vibration asking if I really know what I'm doing. I offer no reply, primarily because I am genuinely unsure. My breath is shallow, but I don’t correct it. I know from experience that any attempt to force "rightness" will only create more knots to undo.
The sound of the clock continues, but I resist the urge to check the time. The sensation of numbness is spreading through my foot, followed by the "prickling" of pins and needles. I stay. Or I hesitate. Or I stay while planning to move. It’s all blurry. The "technical" and the "personal" have fused into a single, uncomfortable reality.
I don’t resolve anything tonight. The pain doesn’t teach me a lesson. The click here doubt doesn’t disappear. I just sit here, aware that this confusion is part of the territory too, even if I don’t know exactly what to do with it yet. Continuing to breathe, continuing to hurt, continuing to exist. And perhaps that simple presence is the only thing that isn't a lie.