I have been contemplating the idea of pillars quite a bit lately. I don't mean the fancy, aesthetic ones found at the facades of grand museums, but instead the foundational supports hidden inside a building that remain unnoticed until you realize they are the sole reason the roof hasn't collapsed. That is the image that persists when I think of Mya Sein Taung Sayadaw. He appeared entirely uninterested in seeking fame or recognition. In the context of Burmese Theravāda Buddhism, his presence was just... constant. Unyielding and certain. He prioritized the work of meditation over any public image he was building.
Fidelity to the Original Path
Honestly, it feels as though he belonged to a different era. He represented an era that prioritized long-term study and meticulous discipline —no shortcuts, no attempts to "hack" the spiritual path. He relied entirely on the Pāḷi texts and monastic discipline, never deviating from them. I ponder whether having such commitment to tradition is the ultimate form of bravery —to stay so strictly committed to the ancient methods of practice. We are often preoccupied with "improving" or "adapting" the Dhamma to make it more convenient for our current lifestyles, yet his life was a silent testament that the ancient system is still effective, on the condition that it is followed with total honesty.
The Profound Art of "Staying"
Those who studied with him mention the word "staying" more than any other instruction. I find that single word "staying" resonating deeply within me check here today. Staying. He insisted that one should not use meditation to chase after exciting states or reaching some climactic, spiritual breakthrough.
It is simply about learning to stay.
• Remain with the breathing process.
• Remain with the mind when it becomes chaotic or agitated.
• Stay with the pain instead of seeking an immediate fix.
Such a task is much harder to execute than one might imagine. Personally, I tend to search for a distraction as soon as things get difficult, yet his life proved that we only comprehend reality when we stop trying to avoid it.
The Depth of Quiet Influence
I reflect on how he addressed the difficult states—the boredom, the doubt, the restlessness. He did not treat them as problems to be resolved. He merely observed them as things to be clearly understood. Though it seems like a small detail, it changes everything. It eliminates the sense of aggressive "striving." It changes from a project of mental control to a process of clear vision.
He did not travel extensively or possess a massive international following, but his impact feels profound precisely because it was so understated. He simply spent his life training those who sought him out. Consequently, his students became teachers themselves, continuing his legacy of modesty. He proved that one doesn't need to be famous to have a profound impact.
I've reached the conclusion that the Dhamma doesn't need to be repackaged or made "interesting." It simply requires commitment and honesty. Within a culture that is constantly demanding our focus, his conduct points us toward the opposite—toward the quiet and the profound. He might not be a famous figure, but that does not matter. Genuine strength typically functions in a quiet manner. It influences the world without asking for any credit. I am trying to absorb that tonight—just the quiet, steady weight of it.