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. The reason Bhante Nyanaramsi is on my mind this evening is that I have lost the energy to pretend I am looking for immediate breakthroughs. 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 Reality of the 2 A.M. Sit
It’s around 2:10 a.m. The air’s a little sticky. My shirt clings to my back in that annoying way. I move just a bit, only to instantly criticize myself for the movement, then realize I am judging. It’s the same repetitive cycle. My mind isn't being theatrical tonight, just resistant. It feels as if it's saying, "I know this routine; is there anything new?" And honestly, that’s when short-term motivation completely fails. No pep talk works here.
The Phase Beyond Excitement
Bhante Nyanaramsi feels aligned with this phase of practice where you stop needing excitement. 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. It’s the type of practice you don't boast about because there are no trophies—only the act of continuing.
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 refrain from manipulating the breath; at this point, any exertion feels like a step backward. 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.
Furthermore, there is a stark, unsettling honesty that emerges in long-term practice. One begins to perceive mental patterns that refuse to vanish—the same old defilements and habits, now seen with painful clarity. He does not strike me as someone who markets a scheduled route to transcendence. More like someone who understands that the work is repetitive, sometimes dull, sometimes frustrating, and still worth doing without complaint.
Balanced, Unromantic, and Stable
I notice my jaw has tightened once more; I release the tension, and my mind instantly begins to narrate the event. Of course it does. I don’t chase it. I don’t shut it up either. 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. 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. A system that does click here not break down when faced with boredom or physical tiredness.
I haven't moved. I am still sitting, still dealing with a busy mind, and still choosing to stay. 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 trust that the Dhamma reveals itself at its own speed, beyond my control. And for now, that’s enough to stay put, breathing, watching, not asking for anything extra.