Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together when I tried to flip through an old book resting in proximity to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations that remain hard to verify. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I remember once asking someone about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” There was no further explanation given. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now I think that response was perfect.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that has come to represent modern Burmese history. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions They emphasize his remarkable consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I more info remember it. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as if there was no other place he needed to be. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. 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 dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Utility is not the only measure of value. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain lives leave an imprint without feeling the need to explain their own existence. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.