Beelin Sayadaw crosses my mind on nights when discipline feels lonely, unglamorous, and way less spiritual than people online make it sound. The reason Beelin Sayadaw surfaces in my mind tonight is unclear; perhaps it is because my surroundings feel so stark. No inspiration. No sweetness. Just this dry, steady sense of needing to sit anyway. The room’s quiet in that slightly uncomfortable way, like it’s waiting for something. My back is leaning against the wall—not perfectly aligned, yet not completely collapsed. It is somewhere in the middle, which feels like a recurring theme.
Beyond the Insight Stages: The Art of Showing Up
Most people associate Burmese Theravāda with extreme rigor or the various "insight stages," all of which carry a certain intellectual weight. However, the version of Beelin Sayadaw I know from anecdotes and scattered records seems much more understated. He seems to prioritize consistent presence and direct action over spectacular experiences. It is discipline devoid of drama, a feat that honestly seems far more difficult.
It’s late. The clock says 1:47 a.m. I keep checking even though time doesn’t matter right now. My thoughts are agitated but not chaotic; they resemble a bored dog pacing a room, restless yet remaining close. I become aware of the tension in my shoulders and release it, yet they tighten again almost immediately. Typical. I feel the usual pain in my lower back, the one that arrives the moment the practice ceases to feel like a choice and starts to feel like work.
Cutting Through the Mental Noise
I imagine Beelin Sayadaw as a teacher who would be entirely indifferent to my mental excuses. Not because he was unkind, but because the commentary is irrelevant to the work. Meditation is just meditation. The rules are just rules. You either follow them or you don't. But the core is honesty; that sharp realization clears away much of my mental static. I exert so much effort trying to bargain with my mind, seeking to justify my own laziness or lack of focus. Discipline is not a negotiator; it simply waits for you to return.
I chose not to sit earlier, convincing myself I was too tired, which wasn't a lie. Also told myself it didn’t matter. Which might be true too, but not in the way I wanted it to be. That small dishonesty lingered all evening. Not guilt exactly. More like static. Thinking of Beelin Sayadaw Beelin Sayadaw brings that static into focus. Not to judge it. Just to see it clearly.
Beyond Emotional Release: The Routine of the Dhamma
There’s something deeply unsexy about discipline. No insights to post about. No emotional release. It is nothing but a cycle of routine and the endless repetition of basic tasks. Sit down. Walk mindfully. Label experiences. Follow the precepts. Rest. Rise. Repeat. I imagine Beelin Sayadaw embodying that rhythm, not as an idea but as a lived thing. He lived it for years, then decades. That level of dedication is almost frightening.
My foot has gone numb and is now tingling; I choose to let it remain as it is. My mind is eager to narrate the experience, as is its habit. I don't try to suppress it. I simply refuse to engage with the thoughts for long, which seems to be the core of this tradition. It is neither a matter of suppression nor indulgence, but simply a quiet firmness.
The Point is the Effort
I notice that my breathing has been constricted; as soon as the awareness lands, my chest relaxes. No big moment. Just a small adjustment. That’s how discipline works too, I think. It is not about theatrical changes, but about small adjustments repeated until they become part of you.
Thinking of Beelin Sayadaw doesn’t make me feel inspired. It makes me feel sober. Grounded. Slightly exposed. Like excuses don’t hold much weight here. And strangely, that is a source of comfort—the relief of not needing to perform a "spiritual" role, in simply doing the work in a quiet, flawed manner, without anticipation of a spectacular outcome.
The hours pass, the physical form remains still, and the mind wanders away only to be brought back again. There is nothing spectacular or deep about it—only this constant, ordinary exertion. And maybe that is the entire point of the path.