My thoughts have frequently returned to the metaphor of pillars over the last few days. Not the elaborate, artistic pillars that one observes at the entryways of historic institutions, but rather the ones buried deep within a structure that stay invisible until you realize they are preventing the entire structure from falling. 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.
Fidelity to the Original Path
To be fair, he seemed like a figure from a much older time. He came from a lineage that followed patient, traditional cycles of learning and rigor —rejecting all shortcuts and modern "hacks" for awakening. He placed his total trust in the Pāḷi Canon and the Vinaya, and he remained with them. I often wonder if this is the most courageous way to live —maintaining such absolute fidelity to the traditional way things have been done. We spend so much time trying to "modernize" or "refine" the Buddha's path to ensure it fits easily into our modern routines, nevertheless, he was a living proof that the primordial framework remains valid, if one has the courage to actually practice it as intended.
The Discipline of Staying in the Present
Those who studied with him mention the word "staying" more than any other instruction. I find that single word "staying" resonating deeply within me today. Staying. He insisted that one should not use meditation to chase after exciting states or attaining a grand, visionary state of consciousness.
It is purely about the ability to remain.
• Remain with the breathing process.
• Stay with the mind when it becomes restless.
• Stay with the ache instead of attempting to manipulate it immediately.
This is far more challenging than it appears on the surface. 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.
Silent Strength Shaping the Future
I consider his approach to difficult mental states like tedium, uncertainty, and agitation. He did not treat them as problems to be resolved. He simply saw them as phenomena to be known. Though it seems like a small detail, it changes everything. It eliminates the sense of aggressive "striving." The practice becomes less about controlling the mind and more about perceiving it clearly.
He wasn't a world traveler with a global audience, yet his influence is deep because it was so quiet. He simply spent his life training those who sought him out. Consequently, his students became teachers themselves, continuing his legacy of modesty. He required no public visibility to achieve his purpose.
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 might not be a famous here figure, but that does not matter. True power often moves without making a sound. It influences the world without asking for any credit. Tonight, I am reflecting on that, simply the quiet weight of his presence.