I have been contemplating the idea of pillars quite a bit lately. I don't mean the fancy, aesthetic ones that one observes at the entryways of historic institutions, but those essential supports positioned out of sight that are never acknowledged until you see they are the only things keeping the roof from coming down. This is the visualization that recurs in my mind regarding Mya Sein Taung Sayadaw. He was not the kind of teacher who looked for the spotlight. In the context of Burmese Theravāda Buddhism, his presence was just... constant. Constant and trustworthy. He appeared to care far more about the Dhamma itself than any status he might have gained.
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 —free from the modern desire for quick results or spiritual shortcuts. 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 —to stay so strictly committed to the ancient methods of practice. 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, provided one actually follows it with sincerity.
Learning the Power of Staying
The students who trained under him emphasize the concept of "staying" above all else. The significance of that term has stayed with me all day long. Staying. He taught that the goal of practice is not to gather special sensations or achieving some dramatic, cinematic state of mind.
The practice is nothing more than learning how to stay.
• Stay with the breath.
• Remain with the mind when it becomes chaotic or agitated.
• Stay with the ache instead of attempting to manipulate it immediately.
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 presence served as a reminder that clarity only arises when we stop running away.
The Depth of Quiet Influence
I consider his approach to difficult mental states like tedium, uncertainty, and agitation. He didn't see them as difficulties to be eliminated. He simply saw them as phenomena to be known. It is a small adjustment, but it fundamentally alters the path. It eliminates the sense of aggressive "striving." The practice becomes less about controlling the mind and more about perceiving it clearly.
He did not travel extensively or possess a massive international following, nonetheless, his legacy is significant because it was so humble. He simply spent his life training those who sought him out. In turn, those students became guides, preserving that same humble spirit. He did not need click here to be seen to be effective.
I am realizing that the Dhamma is complete and doesn't need to be made more "appealing." It simply requires commitment and honesty. While our world is always vying for our attention, his example points in the opposite direction—toward something simple and deep. He may not be a celebrity, but that is of no consequence. Real strength usually operates in silence anyway. It transforms things without ever demanding praise. I am trying to absorb that tonight—just the quiet, steady weight of it.