Reflecting on Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw wasn't on my agenda this evening, yet that is often the nature of such things.

The smallest trigger can bring it back. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another when I reached for a weathered book placed too near the window pane. It's a common result of humidity. I paused longer than necessary, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.

There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that remain hard to verify. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.

I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Without directness or any sense of formality. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was it. No elaboration. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.

The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.

Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They talk about consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare

There’s a small moment I keep replaying, 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 if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. But the feeling stuck. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.

I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Missing conversations you could have had. Letting misunderstandings stand. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.

My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not everything has to be useful. At times, it is enough just to admit. that certain lives leave an imprint without more info the need for self-justification. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.