Something small triggers it. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I lingered for more time than was needed, methodically dividing each page, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which are difficult to attribute exactly. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. In an indirect and informal manner. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was it. No elaboration. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that has come to represent modern Burmese history. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, even though I cannot verify if the click here memory matches the reality. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. It might have been another individual, not 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 often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. The dialogues that were never held. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without ever trying to explain themselves. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.