Veluriya Sayadaw: The Antidote to the Approval-Seeking Mind

The modern world is deeply fixated on receiving constant affirmation. Every action we take seems to involve a search for a "like" or a sign that we are moving in the right direction. Even in meditation, we’re constantly asking, "Am I doing this right?" or "Is this insight yet?" We want our teachers to give us a roadmap, a gold star, and maybe a little pep talk to keep us going.
But Veluriya Sayadaw was the ultimate antidote to that "approval-seeking" mind. He was a member of the Burmese Sangha who perfected the art of being a quiet counter-example. Anyone seeking an elaborate or decorative discourse on the Dhamma from him would have been let down. Commentary and motivation were not his style; he simply existed in a state of silent awareness. For those who had the internal strength to endure his silence, his lack of speech became a more significant teacher than any formal lecture.

The "Awkward Silence" that Saves You
I imagine there was a certain level of anxiety for those first arriving at his monastery. While we crave direction, Veluriya's only "map" was the reflection of the student's own internal state. Without the constant feedback or "spiritual progress" reports we usually expect, your mind suddenly has nowhere to hide. All that restlessness, that "I’m bored" voice, and those nagging doubts? They simply remain, forcing you to acknowledge them.
It sounds uncomfortable—and honestly, it probably was—but that was the whole point. He wanted practitioners to stop looking at him for reassurance and start looking at themselves.
It’s like when you’re learning to ride a bike and someone finally lets go of the seat; the terror is momentary, but the resulting balance is authentic and self-sustained.

Beyond the Cushion: Meditation in the Mundane
As a significant teacher in the Mahāsi tradition, he placed immense value on the persistence of mindfulness.
For him, meditation wasn't a performance you did for an hour on a cushion. It was integrated into:
• The quality of awareness while walking to fetch water.
• The attention paid to the act of consuming food.
• The way you handled the fly buzzing around your face.
He lived this incredibly steady, narrow life. No "spiritual experiments," no unnecessary fluff. read more He trusted that if you just kept your attention on the present moment, day after day, was sufficient for the truth to manifest on its own. He didn't seek to improve the Dhamma, knowing its presence was constant—it is only our own mental noise that prevents us from witnessing it.

No Escape: Finding Freedom within Discomfort
One of the things I find most refreshing about his style was how he handled difficulty. Today, we are surrounded by techniques designed to "soften" the experience of difficulty. But Veluriya didn’t try to soften anything. Whether facing somatic pain, extreme tedium, or mental agitation, his primary advice was simply to... allow it to be.
By denying you a "tactic" for avoiding pain, he forced you to stay with it until you realized something huge: nothing is solid. That pain you mistook for a fixed entity is merely a series of rising and falling vibrations. That boredom is simply an impermanent mental phenomenon. 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 contribution is felt in a much more delicate way. It’s found in the steadiness of his students—individuals who realized that wisdom is not contingent upon one's emotional state It is a result of consistent effort.
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 is a prompt that when we end our habit of interpreting every experience, we may at last start to witness the world as it truly exists.