Something small triggers it. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book left beside the window for too long. It's a common result of humidity. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, separating the pages one by one, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which are difficult to attribute exactly. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. 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 a casual, non-formal tone. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply 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. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They talk about consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A here bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Utility is not the only measure of value. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain lives leave an imprint without ever trying to explain themselves. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.