My thoughts returned to Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw unexpectedly tonight, but that is typically how these reflections emerge.

Something small triggers it. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume resting in proximity to the window. Humidity does that. I lingered for more time than was needed, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.

There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that remain hard to verify. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. And those absences say more than most words ever could.

I remember seeking another's perspective on him once Without directness or any sense of formality. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.

Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. 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.

Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.

There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. 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. Memory blurs people together. But the feeling stuck. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.

I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Permitting errors in perception to remain. 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.

There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I brush it off absentmindedly. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and here I mean that in a good way. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.