Vipassana meditation is all about sensation.

We react to the world through our six sense doors —
the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind.
What we see, hear, smell, taste, touch, or think is first interpreted by the mind.
That interpretation then creates a sensation in the body.
When the sensation feels unpleasant, we call it pain.
When it feels pleasant, we call it pleasure.
But the pain or pleasure is not truly coming from the outside world —
It is born from our reaction to what we experience.
This is why the practice is not about changing what happens,
But about observing the sensation without reacting.
When we simply watch the sensation —
without craving the pleasant,
without resisting the unpleasant —
We train the mind to stop reaching.
And when we no longer reach for pleasure
or push away pain,
The mind begins to rest in equanimity.
This is the art of letting go.
This is the freedom Vipassana offers.
Note: This is why the monk walking (tudong) barefoot - to feel more sensation.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Image
When Control Met Letting Go A reflection from India A trip to India made me realize something I had never fully seen before: I was a control freak in America. I planned everything. I calculated every move. Even my goodness was measured by outcomes. I practiced Buddhism diligently, yet I still negotiated with the future. Layla must attend an Ivy League school. I must meditate correctly. I must produce results. And yes— I did achieve many of the things I wanted. But it was in India that I finally saw the hidden cost of that control. The First Cracking It began in an Uber from Varanasi Airport to the Vipassana meditation center. Eight of us. Two tiny cars. Luggage stacked on the roof, jammed into every empty space. I sat squeezed in the middle between two beautiful meditator friends. My first question was automatic: “Where is the seatbelt?” My Vietnamese friend looked at me and laughed: “What seatbelt?” That was it. The moment I knew: I have entered another world. The car w...
Read more
Lost By the time I reached my college years, things had begun to unravel. It was as if every decision I made went in the wrong direction, every action I took landed me somewhere I didn’t want to be. I was depressed almost all the time—an invisible heaviness I carried everywhere. I was skinny—too skinny, ninety-five-pound skinny—from an overactive thyroid. I had no health insurance, no money, and no sense of direction. I was working at a gas station, but I got fired because I was always late. I couldn’t even explain why. My life felt like a mess I couldn’t untangle. Nights were the worst. I couldn’t breathe—my nose was so congested I had to sleep with my mouth open. It went on for months. I didn’t know what to do, didn’t even think about going to a doctor. No one told me how. My sister didn’t know either. My mother, still living in Michigan with my stepfather and my younger siblings, didn’t speak English well enough to navigate the healthcare system—and she didn’t even know I had gradu...
Read more
  The Results of the Meditation with My Daughter I can’t quite find the right word for what I felt—disappointed? Heartbroken? Neither fits exactly. For years, I had been holding onto one vision. In it, Layla would complete her first ten-day meditation course—the one I had carefully planned for her—and walk away transformed. She would be ready to step into the world of college life with a calm mind and a strong heart, to cross that invisible bridge into adulthood without her mother hovering nearby, constantly adjusting the sails to keep her ship steady. I imagined her as grounded, resilient, and self-assured. No more late-night visits to my room at 2 a.m., her eyes swollen from tears over a fight with a boyfriend or a falling-out with a friend. No more running to me for quick fixes to life’s messiness. From across the country in California, I wouldn’t be able to pick up the pieces for her anymore. For years, I’ve been her safety net. Last summer was proof: I cut my own meditation se...
Read more