The smallest trigger can bring it back. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together when I reached for a weathered book placed too near the window pane. Humidity does that. I paused longer than necessary, methodically dividing each page, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. You don’t actually see them very much. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which lack a definitive source. 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 remember once asking someone about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They focus on the consistency of his character. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
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. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I clean my hands in an get more info unthinking manner. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that some lives leave a deep impression. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. 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.