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

Something small triggers it. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together when I reached for a weathered book that’s been sitting too close to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.

There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which lack a definitive source. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. 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. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was it. No elaboration. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.

It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. 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. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.

Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.

I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.

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. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. The dialogues that were never held. Letting misunderstandings stand. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.

There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. never having sought to explain their own nature. here 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.