A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together while I was browsing through an old book left beside the window for too long. Humidity does that. I lingered for more time than was needed, methodically dividing each page, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. You don’t actually see them very much. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations that no one can quite place. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Without directness or any sense of formality. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was it. No elaboration. 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. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. 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.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era more info of great upheaval. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that seems to define modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They talk about consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That balance feels almost impossible.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. The dialogues that were never held. Letting misunderstandings stand. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not everything has to be useful. At times, it is enough just to admit. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.