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. 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 that understated sense of duty to the practice that requires no external validation. That is the space he occupies in my thoughts.
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 adjust my posture, immediately feel a surge of self-criticism, and then note that criticism. It’s the familiar mental loop. My mind isn't being theatrical tonight, just resistant. It feels as if it's saying, "I know this routine; is there anything new?" In all honesty, that is the moment when temporary inspiration evaporates. No motivational speech can help in this silence.
Trusting Consistency over Flashy Insight
To me, Bhante Nyanaramsi is synonymous with that part of the path where you no longer crave emotional highs. 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. 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. His teaching resonates with practitioners who have accepted that this is not a temporary interest, but a lifelong endeavor.
The Uncomfortable Honesty of the Long Term
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. Serious practice isn’t about intensity all the time. It’s about showing up without negotiating every detail. 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. 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. He appears to understand that the path is often boring and difficult, yet he treats it as a task to be completed without grumbling.
Finding the Middle Ground
I realize my jaw’s clenched again. I more info let it loosen. The mind immediately jumps in with commentary. As expected. I neither pursue the thought nor attempt to suppress it. 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. Steady. Unadorned. Constant.
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 what is truly valuable—not a charismatic leader or a big personality. 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. I don't have an emotional attachment to the figure of Bhante Nyanaramsi. He’s more like a reference 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.