Lately, I have been reflecting deeply on the concept of pillars. I'm not talking about the grand, symbolic pillars found at the facades of grand museums, but rather the ones buried deep within a structure that go unseen until you understand they are holding the entire roof up. This is the visualization that recurs in my mind regarding Mya Sein Taung Sayadaw. He was never someone who pursued public attention. In the context of Burmese Theravāda Buddhism, his presence was just... constant. Unyielding and certain. He seemed to value the actual practice infinitely more than his own reputation.
A Life Rooted in Tradition
Truly, his presence felt like it originated in a different age. He belonged to a time where spiritual growth followed slow, disciplined patterns —without the need for rapid progress or convenient "fixes" for the soul. He relied entirely on the Pāḷi texts and monastic discipline, never deviating from 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. We spend so much time trying to "modernize" or "refine" the Buddha's path to fit the demands of our busy schedules, but he proved through his silence that the original structure still works, provided one actually follows it with sincerity.
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 today. Staying. He taught that the goal of practice is not to gather special sensations or achieving some dramatic, cinematic state of mind.
It is merely the discipline of staying present.
• Stay present with the inhalation and exhalation.
• Stay with the consciousness even when it starts to wander.
• Stay with the pain instead of seeking an immediate fix.
Such a task is much harder to execute than one might imagine. I know that I am typically looking for an exit the moment discomfort arises, 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 merely observed them as things to be clearly understood. This minor change in perspective transforms the whole meditative experience. It allows the effort to become effortless. 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, 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 proved that one doesn't need to be famous to have a profound impact.
I have come to realize that the Dhamma does not need to be reinvented or made "exciting." It simply more info requires commitment and honesty. In a world that is perpetually shouting for our attention, his example points in the opposite direction—toward something simple and deep. He may not be a name that is known by everyone, but that is acceptable. Genuine strength typically functions in a quiet manner. It molds the future without ever wanting a reward. I find myself sitting with that thought tonight, the silent weight of his life.