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. My mind immediately categorizes this as a problem to be solved.
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 consciously choose the word; it just manifested. The raw data transforms into "pain-plus-narrative."
I start questioning my technique: is my noting too sharp or too soft? Is the very act of observing it a form of subtle attachment? The raw pain is nothing compared to the complicated mental drama that has built up around 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. Maybe I'm trying too hard, forcing a clarity that isn't there. 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 find myself fidgeting with my spine, stopping, and then moving again because I can't find the center. My muscles seize up, reacting to the forced adjustments with a sense of protest. I feel a knot of anxiety forming in my chest, a physical manifestation of my doubt.
Communal Endurance vs. Private Failure
On retreat, the discomfort seemed easier to bear because it was shared with others. In a hall, the ache felt like part of the human condition; here, it feels like my own personal burden. 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 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!" The internal critic felt vindicated: "Finally, proof that you are a failure at meditation." That thought brings a strange mixture of relief and panic. 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 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. Rather, it ebbs and flows, feeling like a dynamic enemy that is playing games with my focus. I try to maintain neutrality, but I fail. 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?"
This uncertainty isn't a loud shout; it's a constant, quiet vibration asking if I really know what I'm doing. I don’t answer it, mostly because I don’t have an honest answer. The air is barely moving in my chest, but I leave it alone. I know from experience that any attempt to force "rightness" will only create more knots to undo.
I hear the ticking, but I keep my eyes closed. It’s a tiny victory. The sensation of numbness is spreading through my foot, followed by the "prickling" of pins and needles. 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 resolve anything tonight. The pain doesn’t teach me a lesson. The doubt doesn’t disappear. I Chanmyay Sayadaw just sit here, aware that this confusion is part of the territory too, even if I lack the tools to process it right now. Just breathing, just aching, just staying. And perhaps that simple presence is the only thing that isn't a lie.