the endless loop of mahasi vs goenka vs pa auk, and how it pulls me away from just sitting

The time is nearly 2:00 a.m., and my bedroom feels uncomfortably warm even with a slight breeze coming through the window. I can detect the faint, earthy aroma of wet pavement from a distant downpour. There is a dull, persistent ache in my lower spine. I am caught in a cycle of adjusting and re-adjusting, still under the misguided impression that I can find a spot that doesn't hurt. It doesn’t. Or if it does exist, I have never managed to inhabit it for more than a few fleeting moments.

My mind is stuck in an endless loop of sectarian comparisons, acting like a courtroom that never goes into recess. The labels keep swirling: Mahasi, Goenka, Pa Auk; noting versus scanning; Samatha versus Vipassana. It feels as though I am scrolling through a series of invisible browser tabs, clicking back and forth, desperate for one of them to provide enough certainty to silence the others. It is frustrating and, frankly, a little embarrassing. I claim to be finished with technique-shopping, yet I am still here, assigning grades to different methods instead of just sitting.

Earlier tonight, I attempted to simply observe the breath. Simple. Or at least it was supposed to be. Then the mind started questioning the technique: "Is this Mahasi abdominal movement or Pa Auk breath at the nostrils?" Are you overlooking something vital? Is there a subtle torpor? Should you be labeling this thought? It is more than just a thought; it is an aggressive line of questioning. My jaw clenched without me even realizing it. By the time I became aware, the internal narrative had taken over completely.

I remember a Goenka retreat where the structure felt so incredibly contained. The lack of choice was a relief. There were no decisions to make and no questions to ask; I just had to follow the path. That felt secure. But then, months later and without that structure, the doubts returned as if they had been lurking in the background all along. Pa Auk floated into my thoughts too—all that talk of profound depth and Jhanic absorption—and suddenly my own scattered attention felt inferior. Like I was cheating, even though there was no one there to watch.

The irony is that when I am actually paying attention, even for a few brief seconds, all that comparison vanishes. It is a temporary but powerful silence. There is a moment where sensation is just sensation. Warmth in the joint. The weight of the body on the cushion. The high-pitched sound of a bug nearby. Then the mind rushes back in, asking: "Wait, which system does this experience belong to?" I almost laugh sometimes.

I felt the vibration of a random alert on my device earlier. I resisted the urge to look, which felt like progress, but then I felt stupid for needing that small win. It is the same cycle. Endlessly calculating. Endlessly evaluating. I wonder how much mental energy I squander just trying to ensure I am doing it "correctly," whatever that even means anymore.

I realize I am breathing from the chest once more. I refrain from forcing a deeper breath. I have learned that forcing a sense of "calm" only adds a new layer of tension. The fan makes its rhythmic clicking sound. That tiny sound triggers a surge of frustration. I note the "irritation," then realize I am just performing the Mahasi method for an invisible audience. Then I give up on the technique entirely just to be defiant. Then I simply drift away into thought.

Comparing these lineages is just another way for my mind to avoid the silence. By staying in the debate, the mind avoids the vulnerability of not knowing. Or the realization that no technique will magically eliminate the boredom and the doubt.

I can feel the blood returning to my feet—that more info stinging sensation. I attempt to just observe the sensation. The urge to move pulses underneath the surface. I start bargaining with myself. Five more breaths. Then maybe I will shift. That deal falls apart almost immediately. Whatever.

I don't feel resolved. I don't feel clear. I just feel like myself. Perplexed, exhausted, but still here. The internal debate continues, but it has faded into a dull hum in the background. I make no effort to find a winner. It isn't necessary. It is enough to just witness this mental theater, knowing that I am still here, breathing through it all.