i keep replaying mahasi, goenka, pa auk in my mind and somehow forget the simple act of sitting

The time is nearly 2:00 a.m., and my bedroom feels uncomfortably warm even with a slight breeze coming through the window. There is a distinct scent of damp night air, reminiscent of a rainstorm that has already occurred elsewhere. My lower back is tight and resistant. I find myself repeatedly shifting my posture, then forcing myself to be still, only to adjust again because I am still chasing the illusion of a perfect sitting position. 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. It is a laundry list of techniques: Mahasi-style noting, Goenka-style scanning, Pa Auk-style concentration. I feel like I am toggling through different spiritual software, hoping one of them will finally crash the rest and leave me in peace. It is frustrating and, frankly, a little embarrassing. I tell myself that I have moved past this kind of "spiritual consumerism," and yet here I am, mentally ranking lineages instead of actually practicing.

A few hours ago, I tried to focus solely on anapanasati. 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?" Is there a gap in your awareness? Are you becoming sleepy? Do you need to note that itch? That voice doesn't just whisper; it interrogates. I found my teeth grinding together before I was even aware of the stress. 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 routine was my anchor. No choices. No questions. Just follow the instructions. It provided a sense of safety. Then, sitting in my own room without that "safety net," the uncertainty rushed back with a vengeance. I thought of the rigorous standards of Pa Auk, and suddenly my own restless sitting felt like "cutting corners." It felt like I was being insincere, even though I was the only witness.

The funny thing is that in those moments of genuine awareness, the debate disappears instantly. Not permanently, but briefly. There is a moment where sensation is just sensation. Heat in the knee. Pressure in the seat. The whine of a mosquito near my ear. Then the ego returns, frantically trying to categorize the sensation into a specific Buddhist framework. It is almost comical.

A notification light flashed on my phone a while ago. I didn't check it immediately, which felt like a minor achievement, and then I felt ridiculous for feeling proud. The same egoic loop. 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 notice my breathing has become shallow again. I choose not to manipulate the rhythm. I know from experience that trying to manufacture peace only creates more stress. I hear the fan Mahasi Sayadaw cycle through its mechanical clicks. 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 quit the noting process out of pure stubbornness. Then I simply drift away into thought.

Mahasi versus Goenka versus Pa Auk feels less like a genuine inquiry and more like a way for my mind to stay busy. As long as it's "method-shopping," it doesn't have to face the raw reality of the moment. Or with the possibility that none of these systems will save me from the slow, daily grind of actually being here.

My legs are tingling now. Pins and needles. I try to meet it with equanimity. There is a deep, instinctive push to change my position. I negotiate. "Just five more inhalations, and then I'll move." That deal falls apart almost immediately. Whatever.

There is no final answer. The fog has not lifted. I just feel like myself. A bit lost, a little fatigued, yet still present on the cushion. The internal debate continues, but it has faded into a dull hum in the background. I leave the question unanswered. I don’t need to. It is enough to just witness this mental theater, knowing that I am still here, breathing through it all.