The smallest trigger can bring it back. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another while I was browsing through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations whose origins have become blurred over time. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Without directness or any sense of formality. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. 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 moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep check here pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. 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 Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They focus on the consistency of his character. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That balance feels almost impossible.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
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 sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain lives leave an imprint without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.