Something small triggers it. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together while I was browsing through an old book placed too near the window pane. It's a common result of humidity. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. You don’t actually see them very much. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations that no one can quite place. 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 recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Not directly, not in a formal way. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the sense of the moment remained strong. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. The dialogues that were never held. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush the dust off in a distracted way The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps read more by design.