It wasn't my intention to dwell on Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw again tonight, but that’s usually how it happens.

It is often a minor detail that sets it off. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume placed too near the window pane. Such is the nature of humid conditions. My pause was more extended than required, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.

There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. You don’t actually see them very much. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which are difficult to attribute exactly. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.

I remember once asking someone about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was it. No elaboration. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now I think that response was perfect.

The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.

Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding 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 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. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.

I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.

I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. The dialogues that were never held. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.

There is a click here layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I brush the dust off in a distracted way The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Utility is not the only measure of value. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.