Something small triggers it. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I reached for a weathered book resting in proximity to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I lingered for more time than was needed, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes whose origins have become blurred over time. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. In a casual, non-formal tone. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” There was no further explanation given. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Now I think that response was perfect.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They focus on the consistency of his character. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Memory blurs people together. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Missing conversations you could have had. Letting misunderstandings stand. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
My hands are now covered more info in dust from the old book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that some lives leave a deep impression. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.