My thoughts returned to Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw unexpectedly tonight, however, that is frequently how memory works.

It is often a minor detail that sets it off. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume placed too near the window pane. That is the effect of damp air. I lingered for more time than was needed, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.

There’s something strange about respected figures like him. You don’t actually see them very much. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings whose origins have become blurred over time. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language

I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. Not directly, not in a formal way. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” There was no further explanation given. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Now I think that response was perfect.

It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.

The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That balance feels almost impossible.

A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as if he were entirely more info 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. But the feeling stuck. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.

I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.

There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything needs to have a clear use. At times, it is enough just to admit. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.