Something small triggers it. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I reached for a weathered book kept on a shelf too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I paused longer than necessary, methodically dividing each page, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that no one can quite place. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Without directness or any sense of formality. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They talk about consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
I click here frequently return to a specific, minor memory, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. But the feeling stuck. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require 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 are now covered in dust from the old book. I remove the dust without much thought. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that some lives leave a deep impression. never having sought to explain their own nature. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.