Reflecting on Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw wasn't on my agenda this evening, but these thoughts have a way of appearing unbidden.

Something small triggers it. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume left beside the window for too long. That is the effect of damp air. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, ungluing each page with care, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.

There’s something strange about respected figures like him. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations 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. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.

I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. In a casual, non-formal tone. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.

Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. 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 spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom can be admired from afar. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.

The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They focus on the consistency of his character. He served as a stationary reference point amidst a sea of change I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.

I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, 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 there was no other place he needed to be. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. But the feeling stuck. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.

I frequently ponder the price of living click here 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. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.

There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I brush the dust off in a distracted way 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 certain lives leave an imprint without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.