Lately, I have been reflecting deeply on the concept of pillars. I don't mean the fancy, aesthetic ones that one observes at the entryways of historic institutions, but rather the ones buried deep within a structure that remain unnoticed until you realize they are the sole reason the roof hasn't collapsed. I find that image perfectly captures the essence of Mya Sein Taung Sayadaw. He was not the kind of teacher who looked for the spotlight. Across the landscape of Burmese Theravāda, he remained a quiet, permanent presence. Steady. Reliable. He seemed to value the actual practice infinitely more than his own reputation.
A Life Rooted in Tradition
To be fair, he seemed like a figure from a much older time. He belonged to a time where spiritual growth followed slow, disciplined patterns —rejecting all shortcuts and modern "hacks" for awakening. With absolute faith in the Pāḷi scriptures and the Vinaya, he stayed dedicated to their rules. I ponder whether having such commitment to tradition is the ultimate form of bravery —maintaining such a deep and silent honesty with the original instructions. We are often preoccupied with "improving" or "adapting" the Dhamma to fit the demands of our busy schedules, but he proved through his silence that the original structure still works, on the condition that it is followed with total get more info honesty.
Meditation as the Act of Remaining
Those who studied with him mention the word "staying" more than any other instruction. The significance of that term has stayed with me all day long. Staying. He clarified that meditation isn't a search for unique experiences or achieving some dramatic, cinematic state of mind.
The practice is nothing more than learning how to stay.
• Stay with the breath.
• Stay with the mind when it becomes restless.
• Abide with physical discomfort rather than trying to escape it.
This is far more challenging than it appears on the surface. I know that I am typically looking for an exit the moment discomfort arises, but his example taught that true understanding comes only when we cease our flight.
A Silent Impact and Lasting Commitment
I reflect on how he addressed the difficult states—the boredom, the doubt, the restlessness. He didn't perceive them as problems to be overcome. He saw them as raw experiences to be witnessed. This minor change in perspective transforms the whole meditative experience. It eliminates the sense of aggressive "striving." The practice becomes less about controlling the mind and more about perceiving it clearly.
He didn't seek to build an international brand or attract thousands of followers, yet his influence is deep because it was so quiet. His primary work was the guidance of his students. In turn, those students became guides, preserving that same humble spirit. He did not need to be seen to be effective.
I have come to realize that the Dhamma does not need to be reinvented or made "exciting." It just needs persistent application and honest looking. In a world that is perpetually shouting for our attention, his legacy leads us elsewhere—toward a simple and deep truth. He may not be a name that is known by everyone, but that is acceptable. Authentic power usually moves silently anyway. It influences the world without asking for any credit. Tonight, I am reflecting on that, simply the quiet weight of his presence.