Reflecting on Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw wasn't on my agenda this evening, however, that is frequently how memory works.

It is often a minor detail that sets it off. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume resting in proximity to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, separating the pages one by one, 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 perhaps they are perceived only from afar, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which are difficult to attribute exactly. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.

I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Not directly, not in a formal way. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.

It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.

Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They speak primarily of his 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 balance feels almost impossible.

A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the sense of the moment remained strong. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.

I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. The dialogues that were never held. Letting misunderstandings stand. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.

There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without click here ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.