Bhante Nyanaramsi makes sense to me on nights when shortcuts sound tempting but long-term practice feels like the only honest option left. I am reflecting on Bhante Nyanaramsi tonight because I am exhausted by the charade of seeking rapid progress. Truthfully, I don't—or perhaps I only do in moments of weakness that feel hollow, like a fleeting sugar rush that ends in a crash. 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 is nearly 2:10 a.m., and the atmosphere is damp. My clothing is damp against my back, a minor but persistent irritation. I move just a bit, only to instantly criticize myself for the movement, then realize I am judging. It’s the same repetitive cycle. 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. The kind of thing you don’t brag about because there’s nothing to brag about. You just keep going.
A few hours ago, I found myself browsing meditation content, searching for a spark of inspiration or proof that my technique is correct. Ten minutes in, I felt emptier than when I started. That’s been happening more lately. The further I go on this path, the less I can stand the chatter that usually surrounds it. Bhante Nyanaramsi seems to resonate with people who’ve crossed that line, who aren’t experimenting anymore, who know this isn’t a phase.
Watching the Waves of Discomfort
My knees are warm now. The ache comes and goes like waves. The breath is steady but shallow. I make no effort to deepen it, as force seems entirely useless at this stage. Authentic practice is not always about high intensity; it’s about the willingness to be present without bargaining for comfort. That is a difficult task—far more demanding than performing a spectacular feat for a limited time.
Long-term practice also brings with it a level of transparency that can be quite difficult to face. One begins to perceive mental patterns that refuse to vanish—the same old defilements and habits, now seen with painful clarity. 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.
Finding the Middle Ground
I realize my jaw’s clenched again. I let it loosen. The mind immediately jumps in with commentary. Naturally. I choose neither to follow the thought nor to fight for its silence. There’s a middle ground here that only becomes visible after years of messing this up. This sense of balance feels very much like the "unromantic" approach I associate with Bhante Nyanaramsi. Equanimous. Realistic. Solid.
Those committed to the path do not require excitement; they need a dependable framework. Something that holds when motivation drops out and doubt creeps in quietly. That is the core of his appeal: not charisma, but the stability of the method. A system that does 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. The night moves slowly. The body adjusts. The mind keeps doing its thing. I don't have an emotional attachment to the bhante nyanaramsi figure of Bhante Nyanaramsi. He serves as a benchmark—a reminder that a long-term perspective is necessary, and to trust that the Dhamma reveals itself at its own speed, beyond my control. For the moment, that is sufficient to keep me seated—simply breathing, observing, and seeking nothing more.