It wasn't my intention to dwell on Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw again tonight, but that is typically how these reflections emerge.

A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another while I was browsing through an old book placed too near the window pane. That is the effect of damp air. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, separating the pages one by one, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.

One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that remain hard to verify. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.

I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” There was no further explanation given. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.

It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.

Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. here I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.

There’s a small moment I keep replaying, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he possessed all the time in the world. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.

I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Letting misunderstandings stand. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I don’t know if he thought about these things. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.

My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything needs to have a clear use. 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 feels like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.