mahasi vs goenka vs pa auk keeps looping in my head, like i’m choosing a team instead of just sitting

It is 1:56 a.m., and the atmosphere in my room is slightly too stagnant despite the window being cracked open. There is a distinct scent of damp night air, reminiscent of a rainstorm that has already occurred elsewhere. There is a dull, persistent ache in my lower spine. I keep moving, then stopping, then fidgeting once more, as if I still believe the "ideal" posture actually exists. It doesn’t. And even if it did exist, I suspect I would only find it for a second before it vanished again.

I find my thoughts constantly weighing one system against another, like a mental debate club that doesn't know when to quit. The labels keep swirling: Mahasi, Goenka, Pa Auk; noting versus scanning; Samatha versus Vipassana. It is like having too many mental tabs open, switching between them in the hope that one will finally offer the "correct" answer. I find this method-shopping at 2 a.m. to be both irritating and deeply humbling. 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.

Earlier tonight, I attempted to simply observe the breath. A task that is ostensibly simple. 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. I found my teeth grinding together before I was even aware of the stress. Once I recognized the tension, the "teacher" in my head had already won.

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. There was a profound security in that lack of autonomy. And then I recall sitting alone months later, without the retreat's support, and suddenly all the doubts arrived like they had been waiting in the shadows. 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.

Interestingly, when I manage to actually stay present, the need to "pick a side" evaporates. It is a temporary but powerful silence. For a second, there is only the raw data of experience. Warmth in the joint. The weight of the body on the cushion. The high-pitched sound of a bug nearby. Then the ego returns, frantically trying to categorize the sensation into a specific Buddhist framework. It is almost comical.

I felt the vibration of a random alert on my device earlier. I stayed on the cushion, but then my mind immediately started congratulating itself, which felt pathetic. It is the same cycle. Ranking. Measuring. I think about the sheer volume of energy I lose to the fear of practicing incorrectly.

I notice my breathing has become shallow again. I choose not to manipulate the rhythm. I've realized that the act of "trying to relax" is itself a form of agitation. I hear the fan cycle through its mechanical clicks. The noise irritates me more than it should. I label that irritation mentally, then realize I am only labeling because I think it's what a "good" meditator would do. Then I give up on the technique entirely just to be defiant. Then I click here lose my focus completely.

Comparing these lineages is just another way for my mind to avoid the silence. If it keeps comparing, it doesn't have to sit still with the discomfort of uncertainty. Or the fact that no matter the system, I still have to sit with myself, night after night.

I can feel the blood returning to my feet—that stinging sensation. I let it happen. Or I try to. The desire to shift my weight is a throbbing physical demand. I negotiate. "Just five more inhalations, and then I'll move." The negotiation fails before the third breath. So be it.

I have no sense of closure. I am not "awakened." I feel human. Perplexed, exhausted, but still here. The "Mahasi vs. Goenka" thoughts are still there, but they no longer have the power to derail the sit. I don’t settle them. It isn't necessary. For now, it is enough to notice that this is simply what the mind does when the world gets quiet.