My thoughts returned to Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw unexpectedly tonight, but that’s usually how it happens.

The smallest trigger can bring it back. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together when I reached for a weathered book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I paused longer than necessary, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.

There’s something strange about respected figures like him. You don’t actually see them very much. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which lack a definitive source. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language

I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. In an indirect and informal manner. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.

Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. 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 thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.

Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that seems to define modern Burmese history. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They talk about consistency. He served as a stationary reference point amidst a sea of change It is here hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare

There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the feeling stuck. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.

I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.

I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I wipe it away without thinking. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Utility is not the only measure of value. At times, it is enough just to admit. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.