Anagarika Munindra and the Art of Not Rushing the Soul

Sometimes I think Anagarika Munindra understood meditation the same way people understand old friends—imperfectly, patiently, without needing them to change overnight. I am repeatedly struck by the realization that Vipassanā is rarely as tidy as the textbooks suggest. At least, not in the realm of actual experience. In books, sure. In charts, diagrams, progress maps.
But the reality of sitting involves numb limbs and a posture that won't stay straight, while the mind drifts into useless memories of the past, everything feels completely disorganized. And somehow, when I think of Anagarika Munindra, that mess doesn’t feel like a mistake.

The Late-Night Clarity of the Human Mess
The hour is late, and as usual, these reflections only surface when the world is quiet. Maybe because everything else shuts up a bit. The traffic outside is quieter. My phone is silenced, and the air still holds the trace of burnt incense, mixed with something dusty. I become aware that my jaw is clenched, though I can't say when it began. That’s usually how it goes. Tension sneaks in quietly, like it belongs there.
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. That detail stays with me. Most of my life feels like rushing. 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. That is exactly how we lose touch with our own humanity.

Befriending Boredom and Irritation
Some sessions offer nothing profound—only an overwhelming, heavy sense of boredom. The type of dullness that makes you crave an end to the session. In the past, I saw boredom as a sign of doing it "wrong," but I'm beginning to doubt that. Munindra’s way, as I perceive it, remains unruffled by the presence of boredom. It doesn’t label it as an obstacle that needs smashing. It’s just… boredom. A state. A thing passing through. Or not passing through. Either way.
A few hours ago, more info I felt a surge of unexplained irritation. No trigger. No drama. Just this low-grade grumpiness sitting 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. But then came a quiet intuition, suggesting that even this irritation belongs here. This is not an interruption; it is the work itself.

A Legacy Without Authority Games
I don’t know if Munindra would’ve said that. I wasn’t there. But the way people talk about him, it sounds like he trusted the process refusing to treat it like a cold, mechanical system. He seemed to have a genuine faith in people, which is a rare quality. This is especially notable in spiritual circles where power dynamics often become problematic. He didn’t seem interested in playing the role of someone above the mess. He remained right in the middle of it.
My limb went numb a while ago, and I gave in and shifted my position, despite my intentions. A minor act of defiance, which my mind immediately judged. As expected. Then there was a brief moment of silence. Not deep. Not cosmic. Just a gap. 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 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 my own capacity for the patience this practice demands. But remembering the human side of Vipassanā, the side Munindra seemed to embody, makes the path feel less like a series of tests and more like an ongoing, awkward companionship with my own mind. And that is enough of a reason to show up again tomorrow, even if the sit is entirely ordinary.