Bhante Nyanaramsi makes sense to me on nights when shortcuts sound tempting but long-term practice feels like the only honest option left. I’m thinking about Bhante Nyanaramsi tonight because I’m tired of pretending I want quick results. I don’t. Or maybe I do sometimes, but those moments feel thin, like sugar highs that crash fast. What actually sticks, what keeps pulling me back to the cushion even when everything in me wants to lie down instead, is a subtle, persistent dedication that seeks no recognition. That is the space he occupies in my thoughts.
The Loop of Physicality and Judgment
The time is roughly 2:10 a.m., and the air is heavy and humid. I can feel my shirt sticking to my skin uncomfortably. I adjust my posture, immediately feel a surge of self-criticism, and then note that criticism. It’s the familiar mental loop. The mind’s not dramatic tonight, just stubborn. Like it’s saying, "yeah yeah, we’ve done this before, what else you got?" In all honesty, that is the moment when temporary inspiration evaporates. No motivational speech can help in this silence.
Trusting Consistency over Flashy Insight
Bhante Nyanaramsi represents a stage of development where the need for "spiritual excitement" begins to fade. Or at least, you no longer believe in its value. I am familiar with parts of his methodology—the stress on persistence, monastic restraint, and the refusal to force a breakthrough. It doesn’t feel flashy. It feels long. Decades-long. The kind of thing you don’t brag about because there’s nothing to brag about. You just keep going.
Earlier today, I caught myself scrolling through stuff about meditation, half-looking for inspiration, half-looking for validation that I’m doing it right. After ten minutes, I felt more hollow than before I began. This has become a frequent occurrence. As the practice deepens, my tolerance for external "spiritual noise" diminishes. Bhante Nyanaramsi speaks to those who have moved past the "experimentation" stage and realize that this is a permanent commitment.
Watching the Waves of Discomfort
I can feel the heat in my knees; the pain arrives and departs in rhythmic waves. My breath is stable, though it remains shallow. I make no effort to deepen it, as force seems entirely useless at this stage. True spiritual work isn't constant fire; it's the discipline of showing up without questioning the conditions. In reality, that is much more challenging than being "intense" for a brief period.
There’s also this honesty in long-term practice that’s uncomfortable. You start seeing patterns that don’t magically disappear. Same defilements, same habits, just exposed more clearly. Bhante Nyanaramsi doesn’t seem like someone who promises transcendence on a schedule. More like someone who understands that the work is repetitive, sometimes dull, sometimes frustrating, and still worth doing without complaint.
The Reference Point of Consistency
I realize my jaw’s clenched again. I let it loosen. The mind immediately jumps in with commentary. Of course it does. I don’t chase it. I don’t shut it up either. There’s a middle ground here that only becomes visible after years of messing this up. That middle ground feels very much in line with how I imagine Bhante Nyanaramsi teaches. Balanced. Unromantic. Stable.
Serious practitioners don’t need hype. They need something reliable. A practice that survives when the desire to continue vanishes and doubt takes its place. That is the core of his appeal: not charisma, but the stability of the method. Simply a methodology that stands strong despite tedium or exhaustion.
I’m still here. Still sitting. Still distracted. Still committed. The night passes at a slow pace, my body finds its own comfort, and my mind continues its usual activity. My connection to Bhante Nyanaramsi isn't based on sentiment. He’s more like a reference here point, a reminder that it’s okay to think long-term, to accept that this path unfolds at its own pace, whether I like it or not. Tonight, that is enough to keep me here, just breathing and watching, without demanding a result.