Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, separating the pages one by one, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations which lack a definitive source. 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 an indirect and informal manner. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They talk about consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That balance feels almost impossible.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he possessed all the time in the world. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Letting misunderstandings stand. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I do not more info know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. At times, it is enough just to admit. that certain lives leave an imprint without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.