It is often a minor detail that sets it off. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together when I tried to flip through an old book left beside the window for too long. Humidity does that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, separating the pages one by one, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations that no one can quite place. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I remember once asking someone about him. In a casual, non-formal tone. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden 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. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I am unsure if he more info ever contemplated these issues. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. 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 specific lives leave a profound imprint. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.