Anagarika Munindra keeps popping into my head when practice feels too human, too messy, too full of doubts I don’t know how to shut up. Curiously, I never had the chance to meet Munindra in person, which is strange when I think about it. I’ve never sat in front of him, never heard his voice live, never watched him pause mid-sentence the way people say he did. Nevertheless, he appears—not as a formal instructor, but as a subtle presence that arrives when I am annoyed by my own thoughts. It often happens deep into the night, usually when my energy is low. Often right after I've convinced myself that the practice is useless for now, or maybe for good.
The time is roughly 2 a.m., and the fan has resumed its irregular clicking. I should’ve fixed it weeks ago. My knee hurts a bit, the dull kind, not dramatic, just annoying enough to keep reminding me it exists. I’m sitting but not really sitting, more like half-slouched, half-giving-up. My thoughts are loud and unremarkable—just the standard mix of memories, future plans, and trivialities. Then I recall a detail about Munindra: he wasn't one to rush people or market enlightenment as some polished, epic adventure. He apparently laughed a lot. Like, actually laughed. That detail sticks with me more than any technique.
Vipassanā: Precision Tool vs. Human Reality
Vipassanā is frequently marketed as a highly precise instrument. Watch this. Label that. Maintain exactness. Be unwavering. And certainly, that is a valid aspect of the practice; I understand and respect that. Yet, there are times when that intensity makes me feel like I’m failing a test I never agreed to take. Like I’m supposed to be calmer, clearer, more something by now. In my thoughts, Munindra represents a very different energy. Softer. More forgiving. Not lazy, just human.
I think about how many people he influenced without acting like a big deal. He guided Dipa Ma and indirectly influenced Goenka, among countless others. And yet he stayed… normal? That word feels wrong but also right. He didn’t turn practice into a performance. No pressure to be mystical. No obsession with being special. Just attention. Kind attention. Even to the ugly stuff. Especially the ugly stuff.
The Ridiculous Drama of the Mind
Earlier today, I actually felt angry at a bird while walking. It simply wouldn't stop chirping. Then I noticed the annoyance. Then I got annoyed at myself for being annoyed. Classic. There was this split second where I almost forced myself into being mindful “correctly.” And then I recalled the image of Munindra, perhaps smiling at the sheer ridiculousness of this mental drama. It wasn't a smile of mockery, but one of simple... recognition.
My back was damp with sweat, and the floor was chillier than I had anticipated. Breath came and went like it didn’t care about my spiritual ambitions. That’s the part I keep forgetting. The practice doesn’t care about my story. It just keeps happening. Munindra appeared to read more have a profound grasp of this, yet he kept it warm and human rather than mechanical. Human mind. Human body. Human mess. Still workable. Still worthy.
I don’t feel enlightened writing this. Not even close. I feel tired. Slightly comforted. Slightly confused. The mind’s still jumping. I will likely face doubt again tomorrow. I’ll probably want clearer signs, better progress, some proof I’m not wasting time. However, for tonight, it's enough to know that Munindra was real, that he walked this path, and that he kept it kind.
The fan’s still clicking. The knee still hurts. The mind’s still loud. And somehow, that is perfectly fine for now. It's not "fixed," but it's okay enough to just keep going, one simple breath after another, without the need to pretend it is anything else.