I have been contemplating the idea of pillars quite a bit lately. I am not referring to the ornate, decorative columns you might see on the front of a gallery, but those essential supports positioned out of sight that go unseen until you understand they are holding the entire roof up. That is the mental picture that stays with me when contemplating Mya Sein Taung Sayadaw. He was not the kind of teacher who looked for the spotlight. In the Burmese Theravāda tradition, he was a steady and silent fixture. Stable and dependable. His devotion to the path outweighed any interest in his personal renown.
Devotion to the Ancient Way
To be fair, he seemed like a figure from a much older time. He was part of a generation that adhered to slow, rhythmic patterns of study and discipline —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 —to remain so firmly anchored in the ancestral ways of the Dhamma. We are often preoccupied with "improving" or "adapting" the Dhamma to ensure it fits easily into our modern routines, yet his life was a silent testament that the ancient system is still effective, 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. I have been reflecting on that specific word throughout the day. 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.
• 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.
It is significantly more difficult than it sounds. I know that I am typically looking for an exit the moment discomfort arises, check here but his entire life suggested that the only way to understand something is to stop running from it.
A Legacy of Humility and Persistence
I'm thinking about his reaction to challenging states like boredom, doubt, and mental noise. He didn't perceive them as problems to be overcome. He saw them as raw experiences to be witnessed. Though it seems like a small detail, it changes everything. It eliminates the sense of aggressive "striving." Meditation shifts from managing the mind to simply witnessing it as it is.
He didn't seek to build an international brand or attract thousands of followers, yet his influence is deep because it was so quiet. He focused on training people. And his disciples became masters, passing on that same quiet integrity. His effectiveness was not dependent on being recognized.
I am realizing that the Dhamma is complete and doesn't need to be made more "appealing." It simply requires commitment and honesty. In a world that is perpetually shouting for our attention, his life points toward the reverse—something unassuming yet profound. He may not be a name that is known by everyone, but that is acceptable. Real strength usually operates in silence anyway. It transforms things without ever demanding praise. I am trying to sit with that tonight, just the quiet weight of his example.