Sometimes I think Anagarika Munindra understood meditation the same way people understand old friends—imperfectly, patiently, without needing them to change overnight. I cannot shake the feeling that the practice of insight is far more chaotic than the idealized versions we read about. Not in real life, anyway. In the literature, everything is categorized into neat charts and developmental milestones.
Yet, in the middle of a sit, dealing with physical discomfort and a slumping spine, while the mind drifts into useless memories of the past, everything feels completely disorganized. Somehow, remembering Munindra makes me feel that this chaos isn't a sign that I'm doing it wrong.
The Late-Night Clarity of the Human Mess
Once more, it is late; for some reason, these insights only emerge in the darkness. It might be because the distractions of the day have died down, leaving the traffic hushed. My phone’s face down. There’s this faint smell of incense still hanging around, mixed with something dusty. I become aware that my jaw is clenched, though I can't say when it began. Tension is a subtle intruder; it infiltrates the body so quietly that it feels natural.
I’ve read that Munindra possessed a rare quality of never hurrying the process for anyone. He gave people the permission to be confused, to doubt, and to repeat their mistakes. I hold onto that detail because I spend so much of my own time in a state of constant hurry. A race to gain knowledge, to fix myself, and to reach some imagined spiritual goal. Even meditation becomes another thing to be good at. Another silent competition with myself. And that’s where the human side gets lost.
When the "Fix-It" Mind Meets the Dhamma
On many days, the sit is entirely unspectacular, dominated by a dense cloud of boredom. The kind that makes you check the clock even though you promised you wouldn’t. I used to think that meant I was doing it wrong. Now I’m not so sure. Munindra’s way, as I perceive it, remains unruffled by the presence of boredom. He wouldn't have categorized it as an enemy to be conquered. It is simply a state of being—a passing phenomenon, whether it lingers or not.
This evening, I became aware of a low-grade grumpiness for no obvious cause. There was no specific event, just a persistent, dull anger in my chest. I wanted it gone. Immediately. That urge to fix is strong. Occasionally, the need to control is much stronger than the ability to observe. And then there was this soft internal reminder, not a voice exactly, more like a tone, saying, yeah, this too. This experience is valid. It is part of the practice.
The Courage to Be Normal
I don’t know if Munindra would’ve said that. I wasn’t there. However, the stories of his teaching imply a deep faith in the process of awakening refusing to treat it like a cold, mechanical system. He seemed to have a genuine faith in people, which is a rare quality. Especially in spiritual spaces where authority can get weird fast. He didn't pretend to be an exalted figure who was far removed from the struggles of life. He stayed in it.
My leg fell asleep about ten minutes ago. I shifted slightly even though I told myself not to. A small rebellion. The mind instantly commented on it. Of course it did. This was followed by a short interval of quiet—not a mystical state, just a simple pause. And then, the internal dialogue resumed. Normal.
Ultimately, that is the quality of Munindra that remains in my thoughts. The grace to remain human while engaging with a deep spiritual path. The relief of not having to categorize every moment as a breakthrough. Some evenings have no grand more info meaning, and some sits are just sitting. Certain minds are just naturally loud, exhausted, and difficult.
I remain uncertain about many things—about my growth and the final destination. About whether I possess the necessary endurance for this journey. But remembering the human side of Vipassanā, the side Munindra seemed to embody, makes it feel less like a test and more like a long, awkward friendship with my own mind. And that is enough of a reason to show up again tomorrow, even if the sit is entirely ordinary.