I didn’t plan to think about Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw again tonight, but that is typically how these reflections emerge.

The smallest trigger can bring it back. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together when I tried to flip through an old book left beside the window for too long. Humidity does that. I paused longer than necessary, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.

There’s something strange about respected figures like him. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes which lack a definitive source. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language

I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. In a casual, non-formal tone. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now I think that response was perfect.

It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.

Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense tharmanay kyaw transformations during his life. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They emphasize his remarkable consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.

There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as though he possessed all the time in the world. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. But the feeling stuck. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.

I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.

My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.