Something small triggers it. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume left beside the window for too long. It's a common result of humidity. I paused longer than necessary, ungluing each page with care, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations whose origins have become blurred over time. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I remember once asking someone about him. Not directly, not in a formal way. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. 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 spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. 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 is something we can respect from the outside. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That balance feels almost impossible.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Memory blurs people together. get more info But the sense of the moment remained strong. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Missing conversations you could have had. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not everything needs to have a clear use. At times, it is enough just to admit. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.