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’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 genuinely remains, the anchor that returns me to the seat when my body begs for sleep, is a subtle, persistent dedication that seeks no recognition. That’s where he shows up in my mind.
Breaking the Cycle of Internal Negotiation
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?" Frankly, this is where superficial motivation disappears. There is no pep talk capable of bridging this gap.
The Uncluttered Mind of the Serious Yogi
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’ve read bits of his approach, the emphasis on consistency, restraint, not rushing insight. It doesn’t feel flashy. It feels long. Decades-long. It is the sort of life you don't advertise, as there is nothing to show off. You simply persist.
Earlier today, I caught myself scrolling through stuff about meditation, half-looking for inspiration, half-looking for validation that I’m doing it right. Ten minutes in, I felt emptier than when I started. That’s been happening more lately. 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. Serious practice isn’t about intensity all the time. It’s about showing up without negotiating every detail. 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. You witness the persistence of old habits and impurities; they don't go away, they are just seen 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 Reliability of a Solid Framework
I notice my jaw has tightened once more; I release the tension, and my mind instantly begins to narrate the event. As expected. I neither pursue the thought nor attempt to suppress it. I am finding here a middle way that only reveals itself after years of trial and error. That middle ground feels very much in line with how I imagine Bhante Nyanaramsi teaches. Steady. Unadorned. Constant.
Those committed to the path do not require excitement; they need a dependable framework. 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’m still here. Still sitting. Still distracted. Still committed. The night moves slowly. The body adjusts. The mind keeps doing its thing. 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.