I have been contemplating the idea of pillars quite a bit lately. I don't mean the fancy, aesthetic ones you might see on the front of a gallery, but rather the ones buried deep within a structure that stay invisible until you realize they are preventing the entire structure from falling. I find that image perfectly captures the essence of Mya Sein Taung Sayadaw. He appeared entirely uninterested in seeking fame or recognition. Within the world of Burmese Theravāda, he was simply... there. Steady. Reliable. His devotion to the path outweighed any interest in his personal renown.
Standing Firm in the Original Framework
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 —without the need for rapid progress or convenient "fixes" for the soul. 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 —to stay so strictly committed to the ancient methods of practice. In our modern lives, we are obsessed with "modifying" or "reimagining" the teachings to make it more convenient for our current lifestyles, 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. The significance of that term has stayed with me all day long. Staying. He insisted that one should not use mya sein taung sayadaw meditation to chase after exciting states or attaining a grand, visionary state of consciousness.
It is merely the discipline of staying present.
• Stay with the breath.
• Stay with the mind when it becomes restless.
• Abide with physical discomfort rather than trying to escape it.
This is far more challenging than it appears on the surface. I often find myself wanting to escape the second I feel uneasy, but his example taught that true understanding comes only when we cease our flight.
A Legacy of Humility and Persistence
Think of how he handled the obstacles of dullness, skepticism, and restlessness. He never viewed them as errors that needed fixing. He just acknowledged them as objects to be noted. This minor change in perspective transforms the whole meditative experience. It allows the effort to become effortless. It changes from a project of mental control to a process of clear vision.
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 simply spent his life training those who sought him out. Consequently, his students became teachers themselves, continuing his legacy of modesty. 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. In an environment that is always screaming for our energy, his example points in the opposite direction—toward something simple and deep. His name may not be widely recognized, and that is perfectly fine. Real strength usually operates in silence anyway. It transforms things without ever demanding praise. Tonight, I am reflecting on that, simply the quiet weight of his presence.