I didn’t plan to think about Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw again tonight, but these thoughts have a way of appearing unbidden.

Something small triggers it. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book resting in proximity to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I paused longer than necessary, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.

Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. You don’t actually see them very much. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations that no one can quite place. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language

I remember once asking someone about him. In a casual, non-formal tone. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.

It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. 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 is something we can respect from the check here outside. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.

Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding 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 were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That balance feels almost impossible.

I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.

I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. 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. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.

There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I remove the dust without much thought. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Utility is not the only measure of value. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain lives leave an imprint without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.