Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together while I was browsing through an old book left beside the window for too long. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I lingered for more time than was needed, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings whose origins have become blurred over time. 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. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Not directly, not in a formal way. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, although I am click here not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. But the feeling stuck. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Letting misunderstandings stand. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that some lives leave a deep impression. without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.