The smallest trigger can bring it back. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause while I was browsing through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I paused longer than necessary, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings whose origins have become blurred over time. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. In a casual, non-formal tone. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. 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. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that has come to represent modern Burmese history. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I cannot read more be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. But the sense of the moment remained strong. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. 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. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain lives leave an imprint never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.