Something small triggers it. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book left beside the window for too long. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, methodically dividing each page, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. You don’t actually see them very much. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that remain hard to verify. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his 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 once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. In an indirect and informal manner. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. 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. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They talk about consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as if there was no other place he needed to be. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything has to be useful. On occasion, tharmanay kyaw it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain lives leave an imprint without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.