My thoughts returned to Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw unexpectedly tonight, but that’s usually how it happens.

A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume left beside the window for too long. That is the effect of damp air. I paused longer than necessary, methodically dividing each page, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.

Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. You don’t actually see them very much. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which are difficult to attribute exactly. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.

I remember once asking someone about him. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.

It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.

Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that characterizes the modern history of Burma. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That balance feels almost impossible.

A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as though he possessed all the time in the world. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.

I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Letting misunderstandings stand. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.

I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush it off absentmindedly. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything has to be useful. At times, it is enough just to admit. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without feeling the need to explain their own click here existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.