The clock reads 2:18 a.m., and a persistent, dull ache in my right knee is competing for my attention—not enough to force a shift, but plenty to destroy my calm. The ground seems more unforgiving tonight than it was twenty-four hours ago, a physical impossibility that I nonetheless believe completely. 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. The mind wastes no time in turning this physical state into a technical failure.
The Anatomy of Pain-Plus-Meaning
Chanmyay pain. That phrase appears like a label affixed to the physical sensation. It's an uninvited guest that settles into the awareness. What was once just sensation is now "pain-plus-interpretation."
Am I observing it correctly? Should I be noting it more clearly, or perhaps with less intensity? 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 try to focus on the bare data: the warmth, the tightness, the rhythmic pulsing. Suddenly, doubt surfaces, cloaked in the language of a "reality check." Maybe I'm trying too hard, forcing a clarity that isn't there. Perhaps I'm being too passive, or I've missed a fundamental step in the instructions.
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 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. The tension in my back increases, a physical rebellion against my lack of trust. 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. 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. “Chanmyay wrong practice” echoes in my head—not as a statement, but as a fear. I worry that I am just practicing my own neuroses instead of the Dhamma.
The Trap of "Proof" and False Relief
Earlier today I read something about wrong effort, and my mind seized it like proof. It felt like a definitive verdict: "You have been practicing incorrectly this whole time." The idea is a toxic blend of comfort and terror. Relief because there is an explanation; panic because fixing it feels overwhelming. I am sitting here in the grip of both emotions, my teeth grinding together. 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 wanted it to be predictable; I wanted something solid to work with. 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?"
“Chanmyay doubt” is not dramatic; it is a low, persistent hum asking, “Are you sure?” 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. Experience has taught me that "fixing" the moment only creates a new layer of artificiality.
The sound of the clock continues, but I resist the urge to check the time. My limb is losing its feeling, replaced by the familiar static of a leg "falling asleep." I stay. Or I hesitate. Or I stay while more info planning to move. It’s all blurry. Wrong practice, right practice, pain, doubt—all mashed together in this very human mess.
There is no closure this evening. The pain remains a mystery, and the doubt stays firmly in place. I am just here, acknowledging that "not knowing" is also the path, even if I don’t know exactly what to do with it yet. Continuing to breathe, continuing to hurt, continuing to exist. Which feels like the only honest thing happening right now.