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. 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 mind immediately categorizes this as a problem to be solved.
The Anatomy of Pain-Plus-Meaning
The term "Chanmyay pain" arises as a technical tag for the discomfort. I didn't consciously choose the word; it just manifested. The sensation becomes "pain-plus-meaning."
The doubt begins: is my awareness penetrative enough, or am I just thinking about the pain? Or am I clinging to the sensation by paying it so much attention? The actual ache in my knee is dwarfed by the massive cloud of analytical thoughts surrounding it.
The "Chanmyay Doubt" Loop
I attempt to stay with the raw sensation: heat, pressure, throbbing. Suddenly, doubt surfaces, cloaked in the language of a "reality check." Maybe I'm trying too hard, forcing a clarity that isn't there. Maybe I am under-efforting, or perhaps this simply isn't the right way to practice.
Maybe I misunderstood the instructions years ago and everything since then has been built on a slight misalignment that no one warned me about.
That specific doubt is far more painful than the throbbing in my joint. I find myself fidgeting with my spine, stopping, and then moving again because I can't find the center. My back tightens in response, as if it’s offended I didn't ask permission. I feel a knot of anxiety forming in my chest, a physical manifestation of my doubt.
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. “Chanmyay wrong practice” echoes in my head—not as a statement, but as a fear. The fear is that I'm just hardening my ego rather than dissolving it.
The Trap of "Proof" and False Relief
I encountered a teaching on "wrong effort" today, and my ego immediately used it as evidence against me. “See? This explains everything. You’ve been doing it wrong.” There is a weird sense of "aha!" mixed with a "no!" Relief that the problem has a name, but panic because the solution seems impossible. Sitting here now, I feel both at once. My jaw is clenched. I relax it. It tightens again five breaths later.
The Shifting Tide of Discomfort
The ache moves to a different spot, which is far more irritating than a steady sensation. I was looking for something stable to observe; I wanted a "fixed" object. Instead, it pulses, fades, and returns, as if it’s intentionally messing with me. 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?"
This uncertainty isn't a loud shout; it's a constant, quiet vibration asking if I really know Chanmyay Sayadaw what I'm doing. I offer no reply, primarily because I am genuinely unsure. The air is barely moving in my chest, but I leave it alone. I’ve learned that forcing anything right now just adds another layer of tension to untangle later.
The sound of the clock continues, but I resist the urge to check the time. The sensation of numbness is spreading through my foot, followed by the "prickling" of pins and needles. I remain, though a part of me is already preparing to shift. It’s all very confused. 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 just sit here, aware that this confusion is part of the territory too, 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.