I have been contemplating the idea of pillars quite a bit lately. I'm not talking about the grand, symbolic pillars that one observes at the entryways of historic institutions, but those essential supports positioned out of sight 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 was not the kind of teacher who looked for the spotlight. Across the landscape of Burmese Theravāda, he remained a quiet, permanent presence. Unyielding and certain. He appeared to care far more about the Dhamma itself than any status he might have gained.
A Life Rooted in Tradition
It feels like he was a representative of a bygone generation. He represented an era that prioritized long-term study and meticulous 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 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 palatable for a contemporary audience, yet his life was a silent testament that the ancient system is still effective, provided one actually follows it with sincerity.
Meditation as the Act of Remaining
His practitioners frequently recall his stress on the act of "staying." I find that single word "staying" resonating deeply read more within me today. Staying. He would instruct them that meditation is not about collecting experiences or achieving some dramatic, cinematic state of mind.
The practice is nothing more than learning how to stay.
• Stay with the breath.
• Stay with the mind when it becomes restless.
• Stay with the ache instead of attempting to manipulate it immediately.
It is significantly more difficult than it sounds. Personally, I tend to search for a distraction as soon as things get difficult, yet his life proved that we only comprehend reality when we stop trying to avoid it.
A Legacy of Humility and Persistence
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. 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 did not travel extensively or possess a massive international following, but his impact feels profound precisely because it was so understated. He dedicated himself to the development of other practitioners. And those individuals became teachers, carrying that same humility forward. 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 only needs dedicated effort and total sincerity. While our world is always vying for our attention, his example points in the opposite direction—toward something simple and deep. He might not be a famous figure, but that does not matter. Genuine strength typically functions in a quiet manner. It shapes reality without ever seeking recognition. I am trying to absorb that tonight—just the quiet, steady weight of it.