It is often a minor detail that sets it off. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume resting in proximity to the window. Humidity does that. I paused longer than necessary, methodically dividing each page, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. You don’t actually see them very much. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations that remain hard to verify. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” There was no further explanation given. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions They talk about consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Memory blurs people together. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. 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. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I do not know if click here such thoughts ever entered his mind. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush the dust off in a distracted way The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything has to be useful. At times, it is enough just to admit. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever trying to explain themselves. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.