I have been contemplating the idea of pillars quite a bit lately. I am not referring to the ornate, decorative columns found at the facades of grand museums, 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 was not an individual who sought the limelight. 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
Honestly, it feels as though he belonged to a different era. He was part of a generation that adhered to slow, rhythmic patterns of study and 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 often wonder if this is the most courageous way to live —maintaining such absolute fidelity to the traditional way things have been done. We are often preoccupied with "improving" or "adapting" the Dhamma to ensure it fits easily into our modern routines, but he proved through his silence that the original structure still works, on the condition that it is followed with total honesty.
Learning the Power of Staying
The most common theme among his followers is the simple instruction to "stay." I find that single word "staying" resonating deeply within me today. Staying. He would instruct them that meditation is not about collecting experiences or reaching a spectacular or theatrical mental condition.
It is purely about the ability to remain.
• Stay present with the inhalation and exhalation.
• Remain with the mind when it becomes chaotic or agitated.
• Abide with physical discomfort rather than trying to escape it.
It is significantly more difficult than it sounds. I know that I am typically looking for an exit the moment discomfort arises, but his entire life suggested that the only way to understand something is to stop running from it.
The Depth of Quiet Influence
I consider his approach to difficult mental states like tedium, uncertainty, read more and agitation. He did not treat them as problems to be resolved. He simply saw them as phenomena to be known. It is a small adjustment, but it fundamentally alters the path. It removes the "striving" from the equation. It moves from an attempt to govern consciousness to an act of direct observation.
He lived without the need for extensive travel or a global fan base, nonetheless, his legacy is significant because it was so humble. He dedicated himself to the development of other practitioners. And his disciples became masters, passing on that same quiet integrity. He required no public visibility to achieve his purpose.
I've reached the conclusion that the Dhamma doesn't need to be repackaged or made "interesting." The only thing it demands is commitment and integrity. While our world is always vying for our attention, his conduct points us toward the opposite—toward the quiet and the profound. His name may not be widely recognized, and that is perfectly fine. Authentic power usually moves silently anyway. It transforms things without ever demanding praise. I am trying to sit with that tonight, just the quiet weight of his example.