The smallest trigger can bring it back. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together when I tried to flip through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, ungluing each page with care, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations that remain hard to verify. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Not directly, not in a formal way. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned more info an era of great upheaval. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They speak primarily of his consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Letting misunderstandings stand. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that some lives leave a deep impression. without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.