Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together when I reached for a weathered book left beside the window for too long. Such is the nature of humid conditions. My pause was more extended than required, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes that no one can quite place. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. 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. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Now I think that response was perfect.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day website after day.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that seems to define modern Burmese history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They talk about consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. 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, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
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. Utility is not the only measure of value. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. never having sought to explain their own nature. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.