It is often a minor detail that sets it off. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume left beside the window for too long. Moisture has a way of doing that. I paused longer than necessary, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. You don’t actually see them very much. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes that no one can quite place. 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. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They speak primarily of his consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That balance feels almost impossible.
I frequently click here return to a specific, minor memory, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, 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. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I wipe it away without thinking. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.