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 paused longer than necessary, separating the pages one by one, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
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. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once Not directly, not in a formal way. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was it. No elaboration. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that seems to define modern Burmese history. 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. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That balance feels almost impossible.
A small scene continues website to replay in my thoughts, 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 if there was no other place he needed to be. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. But the feeling stuck. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I remove the dust without much thought. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.