Bhante Nyanaramsi’s example becomes clear to me on nights when I am tempted by spiritual shortcuts but realize that only long-term commitment carries any real integrity. I am reflecting on Bhante Nyanaramsi tonight because I am exhausted by the charade of seeking rapid progress. In reality, I don't; or if I do, those cravings feel superficial, like a momentary burst of energy that inevitably fails. 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’s where he shows up in my mind.
The Loop of Physicality and Judgment
It is nearly 2:10 a.m., and the atmosphere is damp. My clothing is damp against my back, a minor but persistent irritation. I shift slightly, then immediately judge myself for shifting. Then notice the judgment. Same old loop. The mind’s not dramatic tonight, just stubborn. Like it’s saying, "yeah yeah, we’ve done this before, what else you got?" Frankly, this is where superficial motivation disappears. There is no pep talk capable of bridging this gap.
The Uncluttered Mind of the Serious Yogi
To me, Bhante Nyanaramsi is synonymous with that part of the path where you no longer crave emotional highs. Or at least you stop trusting it. I have encountered fragments of his teaching, specifically his focus on regularity, self-control, and allowing wisdom to mature naturally. His path lacks any "glamour"; it feels vast, spanning many years of quiet effort. It’s the type of practice you don't boast about because there are no trophies—only the act of continuing.
A few hours ago, I found myself browsing meditation content, searching for a spark of inspiration or proof that my technique is correct. Within minutes, I felt a sense of emptiness. I'm noticing this more often as I go deeper. The further I go on this path, the less I can stand read more the chatter that usually surrounds it. Bhante Nyanaramsi speaks to those who have moved past the "experimentation" stage and realize that this is a permanent commitment.
Intensity vs. Sustained Presence
My knees feel warm, and a dull ache ebbs and flows like the tide. My breathing is constant but not deep. I don’t force it deeper. Forcing feels counterproductive at this point. Authentic practice is not always about high intensity; it’s about the willingness to be present without bargaining for comfort. That’s hard. Way harder than doing something extreme for a short burst.
There’s also this honesty in long-term practice that’s uncomfortable. You witness the persistence of old habits and impurities; they don't go away, they are just seen more clearly. Bhante Nyanaramsi does not appear to be a teacher who guarantees enlightenment according to a fixed timeline. Instead, he seems to know that the work is repetitive, often tedious, and frequently frustrating—yet fundamentally worth the effort.
The Reliability of a Solid Framework
My jaw is clenched again; I soften it, and my internal critic immediately provides a play-by-play. As expected. I neither pursue the thought nor attempt to suppress it. There is a balance here that one only discovers after failing repeatedly for a long time. That equilibrium seems perfectly consistent with the way I perceive Bhante Nyanaramsi’s guidance. Equanimous. Realistic. Solid.
Authentic yogis don't look for "hype"; they look for something that holds weight. A structure that remains firm when inspiration fails and uncertainty arrives in the dark. That is what is truly valuable—not a charismatic leader or a big personality. A system that does not break down when faced with boredom or physical tiredness.
I remain present—still on the cushion, still prone to distraction, yet still dedicated. Time passes slowly; my body settles into the posture while my mind continues its internal chatter. My connection to Bhante Nyanaramsi isn't based on sentiment. He’s more like a reference point, a reminder that it’s okay to think long-term, and to accept that progress happens in its own time, regardless of my personal desires. For the moment, that is sufficient to keep me seated—simply breathing, observing, and seeking nothing more.