It wasn't my intention to dwell on Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw again tonight, yet that is often the nature of such things.

Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book placed too near the window pane. Moisture has a way of doing that. I lingered for more time than was needed, separating the pages one by one, 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. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which lack a definitive source. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. And those absences say more than most words ever could.

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. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.

It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.

Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that seems to define modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They speak primarily of his consistency. He served as a stationary reference point amidst a sea of change How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.

A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the feeling stuck. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.

I find myself questioning the personal toll of more info being such an individual. 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. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.

I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain lives leave an imprint never having sought to explain their own nature. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.