Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together when I reached for a weathered book that’s been sitting too close to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes which lack a definitive source. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. In a casual, non-formal tone. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Throughout more info his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. But the feeling stuck. 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 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. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I brush it off absentmindedly. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything needs to have a clear use. At times, it is enough just to admit. that some lives leave a deep impression. 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.