I have been contemplating the idea of pillars quite a bit lately. I'm not talking about the grand, symbolic 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. That is the mental picture that stays with me when contemplating 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. Steady. Reliable. His devotion to the path outweighed any interest in his personal renown.
Fidelity to the Original Path
Honestly, it feels as though he belonged to a different era. He belonged to a time where spiritual growth followed slow, disciplined patterns —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 sometimes ask myself if that level of fidelity is the bravest path —maintaining such a deep and silent honesty with the original instructions. Our society is constantly trying to "update" or "simplify" the practice to make it more palatable for a contemporary audience, but he proved through his silence that the original structure still works, so long as it is practiced with genuine integrity.
The Discipline of Staying in the Present
Those who studied with him mention the word "staying" more than any other instruction. I have been reflecting on that specific word throughout the day. Staying. He would instruct them that meditation is not about collecting experiences or reaching a spectacular or theatrical mental condition.
It is simply about learning to stay.
• Stay with the breath.
• Remain with the mind when it becomes chaotic or agitated.
• Abide with physical discomfort rather than trying to escape it.
Such a task is much harder to execute than one might imagine. I am usually inclined to find a way out as soon as things become uncomfortable, but his entire life suggested that the only way to understand something is to stop running from it.
A Silent Impact and Lasting Commitment
I'm thinking about his reaction to challenging states like boredom, doubt, and mental noise. He never viewed them as errors that needed fixing. He just acknowledged them as objects to be noted. It is a subtle shift, but it read more changes the entire practice. It removes the "striving" from the equation. It moves from an attempt to govern consciousness to an act of direct observation.
He wasn't a world traveler with a global audience, but his impact feels profound precisely because it was so understated. He dedicated himself to the development of other practitioners. And his disciples became masters, passing on that same quiet integrity. 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. While our world is always vying for our attention, 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. True power often moves without making a sound. It influences the world without asking for any credit. I am trying to absorb that tonight—just the quiet, steady weight of it.