Bhante Nyanaramsi: The Integrity of Long-Term Practice

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. 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 Loop of Physicality and Judgment
It’s around 2:10 a.m. The air’s a little sticky. My shirt clings to my back in that annoying way. 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?" And honestly, that’s when short-term motivation completely fails. No pep talk works here.

Bhante Nyanaramsi and the Decades-Long Path
To me, Bhante Nyanaramsi is synonymous with that part of the path where you no longer crave emotional highs. Or, at the very least, you cease to rely on it. I’ve read bits of his approach, the emphasis on consistency, restraint, not rushing insight. There is nothing spectacular about it; it feels enduring—a journey measured in decades. It is the sort of life you don't advertise, as there is nothing to show off. You simply persist.
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. As the practice deepens, my tolerance for external "spiritual noise" diminishes. 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
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. True spiritual work isn't constant fire; it's the discipline of showing up without questioning the conditions. That is a difficult task—far more demanding than performing a spectacular feat for a limited time.
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. Instead, he seems to know that the work is repetitive, often tedious, and here frequently frustrating—yet fundamentally worth the effort.

Balanced, Unromantic, and Stable
My jaw is clenched again; I soften it, and my internal critic immediately provides a play-by-play. Naturally. I choose neither to follow the thought nor to fight for its silence. I am finding 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. Equanimous. Realistic. Solid.
Serious practitioners don’t need hype. They need something reliable. A structure that remains firm when inspiration fails and uncertainty arrives in the dark. That is the core of his appeal: not charisma, but the stability of the method. Just a framework that doesn’t collapse under boredom or fatigue.

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. 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, to accept that this path unfolds at its own pace, whether I like it or not. For the moment, that is sufficient to keep me seated—simply breathing, observing, and seeking nothing more.