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 only break in the silence is the ghost of a motorbike engine somewhere in the distance. 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. What was once just sensation is now "pain-plus-interpretation."
The doubt begins: is my awareness penetrative enough, or am I just thinking about the pain? Is the very act of observing it a form of subtle attachment? 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 the doubt creeps in quietly, disguised as a reasonable inquiry. 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.
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 specific doubt is far more painful than the throbbing in my joint. I start to adjust my back, catch the movement, and then adjust again because I'm convinced I'm sitting crooked. 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 recall how much simpler it was to sit with pain when I was surrounded by a silent group of practitioners. Pain felt like a shared experience then. Now it feels personal, isolated. Like a test I am failing in private. 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
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!" I'm glad to have an answer, but terrified of how much work it will take to correct. I am sitting here in the grip of both emotions, my teeth grinding together. I release the clench, but it's back within a minute. It’s an automatic reflex.
The Shifting Tide of Discomfort
The ache moves to a different spot, which is far more irritating than a steady sensation. 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 strive for a balanced mind, but I am clearly biased against the pain. I check here 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 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.
The clock ticks. I don’t look at it this time. A small mercy. My leg is going numb around the edges. Pins and needles creep in. 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 am simply present with the fact that confusion is also an object of mindfulness, even if I lack the tools to process it right now. Still breathing, still uncomfortable, still here. Which feels like the only honest thing happening right now.