Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book resting in proximity to the window. Humidity does that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, separating the pages one by one, 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. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that no one can quite place. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” There was no further explanation given. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Now I think that response was perfect.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I keep pondering tharmanay kyaw the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that seems to define modern Burmese history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They emphasize his remarkable consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. 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. But the feeling stuck. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. The dialogues that were never held. Letting misunderstandings stand. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I cannot say if he ever pondered 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 unthinking manner. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Utility is not the only measure of value. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.