The smallest trigger can bring it back. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume that’s been sitting too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I paused longer than necessary, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations whose origins have become blurred over time. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. In an indirect and informal manner. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now I think that response was perfect.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding 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 talk about consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely check here accurate. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Memory blurs people together. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. 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 brush it off absentmindedly. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything has to be useful. At times, it is enough just to admit. that some lives leave a deep impression. without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.