By the fifth day, the rhythm of the course was becoming familiar—early mornings, long meditation sessions, simple meals, and the ever-present silence. My body still bore the marks of the practice—aching knees, stiff back—but the mental landscape was shifting in unexpected ways.

Today, I felt a subtle surrender. Instead of fighting the discomfort, the wandering thoughts, or the impatience, I began to let go of control. The breath was no longer something to grasp tightly but a natural rhythm to flow with.

During the morning meditation, there were moments when the mind stilled for longer periods. I felt more anchored in the present—aware of the sensations without judgment or reaction. Even the painful spots in my body became objects of curiosity rather than resistance.

The silence around us was no longer just an absence of sound but a presence—a space where I could observe the movements of my mind and body without distraction.

In the evening discourse, Goenka-ji spoke about Vipassana as the art of seeing things as they really are, stripping away illusions created by craving and aversion. The idea that pain and pleasure arise and pass away, and that true peace lies in equanimity, began to resonate deeply.

By the time I returned to my room, fatigue mingled with a quiet contentment. There was still a long way to go, but the stubborn resistance that had plagued me in the first days was softening.

Surrender wasn’t giving up—it was opening up.