The smallest trigger can bring it back. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together when I reached for a weathered book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I paused longer than necessary, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. You don’t actually see them very much. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that remain hard to verify. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. 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. 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 Political shifts, get more info social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They talk about consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That balance feels almost impossible.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I brush it off absentmindedly. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.