Reflecting on Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw wasn't on my agenda this evening, but that is typically how these reflections emerge.

Something small triggers it. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together when I reached for a weathered book that’s been sitting too close to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. My pause was more extended than required, ungluing each page with care, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.

Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. You don’t actually see them very much. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations which are difficult to attribute exactly. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language

I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Not directly, not in a formal way. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.

Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.

Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that seems to define modern Burmese history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. 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. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.

A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. 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 might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. But the feeling stuck. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.

I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.

There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. There is no requirement tharmanay kyaw for every thought to be practical. At times, it is enough just to admit. that some lives leave a deep impression. never having sought to explain their own nature. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.