It is 2:18 a.m., and the right knee is screaming in that dull, needy way that is not quite sharp enough to justify moving but loud enough to dismantle any illusion of serenity. The floor feels significantly harder than it did yesterday, an observation that makes no logical sense but feels entirely authentic. Aside from the faint, fading drone of a far-off motorcycle, the room is perfectly quiet. A thin layer of perspiration is forming, though the room temperature is quite cool. My consciousness instantly labels these sensations as "incorrect."
The Anatomy of Pain-Plus-Meaning
"Chanmyay pain" shows up in my mind, a pre-packaged label for the screaming in my knee. I didn’t ask for it; it simply arrives. The sensation becomes "pain-plus-meaning."
The doubt begins: is my awareness penetrative enough, or am I just thinking about the pain? 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 try to focus on the bare data: the warmth, the tightness, the rhythmic pulsing. Suddenly, doubt surfaces, cloaked in the language of a "reality check." "Chanmyay doubt." Maybe my viriya (effort) is too aggressive. Or maybe I'm being lazy, or I've completely misinterpreted the entire method.
I worry that I missed a key point in the teachings years ago, and I've been building my practice on a foundation of error ever since.
That thought hits harder than the physical pain in my knee. I start to adjust my back, catch the movement, and then adjust again because I'm convinced I'm sitting crooked. My back tightens in response, as if it’s offended I didn't ask permission. A ball of tension sits behind my ribs, a somatic echo of my mental confusion.
Communal Endurance vs. Private Failure
I remember times on retreat where pain felt manageable because it was communal. Pain felt like a shared experience then. Now it feels personal, isolated. It feels like a secret exam that I am currently bombing. 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. It felt like a definitive verdict: "You have been practicing incorrectly this whole time." That thought brings a strange mixture of relief and panic. I'm glad to have an answer, but terrified of how much work it will take to correct. Sitting here now, I feel both at once. My jaw is clenched. I release the clench, but it's back within a minute. It’s an automatic reflex.
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. It feels like a moving target—disappearing only to strike again elsewhere. I attempt to meet it with equanimity, but I cannot. I see my own reaction, and then I get lost in the thought: "Is noticing the reaction part of the path, or just more ego?"
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. My breathing has become thin, yet I refrain from manipulating it. Experience has taught me that "fixing" the moment only creates a new layer of artificiality.
The clock ticks. I don’t look at it this time. A small mercy. 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. The "technical" and the "personal" have fused into a single, uncomfortable reality.
I don’t check here resolve anything tonight. The pain doesn’t teach me a lesson. The doubt doesn’t disappear. I am simply present with the fact that confusion is also an object of mindfulness, even if I don’t know exactly what to do with it yet. Just breathing, just aching, just staying. And perhaps that simple presence is the only thing that isn't a lie.