The modern world is deeply fixated on receiving constant affirmation. Think about it—every time we do something, we’re looking for a "like," a comment, or some kind of validation that we’re on the right track. This translates into our practice, where we repeatedly question our technique or search for signs of insight. We look to our instructors for a detailed plan, praise, and motivational support to sustain our effort.
Veluriya Sayadaw, however, served as the perfect remedy for such a needy state of mind. As a Burmese monastic, he truly embodied the role of a silent alternative. If your goal was to hear an ornate philosophical lecture, he would have surely disappointed you. Commentary and motivation were not his style; he simply existed in a state of silent awareness. Yet, for the students with the persistence to stay by his side, his lack of speech became a more significant teacher than any formal lecture.
The Mirror of Silence: Finding Nowhere to Hide
I imagine there was a certain level of anxiety for those first arriving at his monastery. Our habit is to rely on external "guidance," yet with Veluriya, the instruction acted as a direct reflection. When a teacher doesn't constantly check in on you or give you a "level up" talk, the ego is left with no place to take refuge. That internal noise, the complaints of "tedium," and the lingering doubts? They simply remain, forcing you to acknowledge them.
This sounds difficult, and it likely was, yet that was the intended goal. His goal was for people to abandon their reliance on the teacher and begin observing their own minds.
It is comparable to the moment a teacher releases the seat while you learn to cycle; there is an initial fear, but it is the only path to discovering one's own balance.
The Seamless Awareness of Veluriya Sayadaw
Veluriya Sayadaw was a heavyweight in the Mahāsi tradition, which means he was big on continuity.
To him, meditation was far more than an isolated period of sitting quietly. It consisted of:
• The quality of awareness while walking to fetch water.
• The way you ate your rice.
• The equanimity maintained when faced with a minor irritation.
His life was characterized by an exceptional level of stability and focus. He avoided all experimental methods or unnecessary additions to the path. He relied on the belief that constant awareness of the present, consistently applied, was sufficient for the truth to manifest on its own. He didn't seek to improve the Dhamma, knowing its presence was constant—our own internal dialogue is usually the only obstacle to its perception.
The Alchemy of Resistance: Staying with the Fire
His perspective on dealing with unpleasant states was remarkably transparent. In the modern world, we utilize numerous "shortcuts" to alleviate stress or minimize physical discomfort. But Veluriya didn’t try to soften anything. If you were in pain, or bored out of your mind, or agitated, his "instruction" was basically to just... let it happen.
By denying you a "tactic" for avoiding pain, he made you veluriya sayadaw sit with the experience until you witnessed the ultimate reality: the lack of a solid "self." That pain you thought was a permanent block? It’s actually just a bunch of shifting sensations. That boredom? It’s just a passing mental state. One discovers this only by staying in the difficult states until they are no longer viewed as an "enemy."
A Legacy Beyond Branding
He bequeathed no written volumes or extensive audio archives. His impact is far more understated. It manifests in the stable presence of his followers—those who discovered that realization is independent of one's feelings It depends on showing up.
Veluriya Sayadaw showed us that the Dhamma doesn't need a PR team. Constant speech is not a prerequisite for deep comprehension. There are times when a teacher's greatest gift is their own silence. It’s a reminder that when we stop adding our own "commentary" to every moment, we might actually start to understand what’s really going on.