Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together while I was browsing through an old book placed too near the window pane. Humidity does that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that remain hard to verify. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through 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 remember seeking another's perspective on him once In an indirect and informal manner. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama 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 the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They speak primarily of his consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That balance feels almost impossible.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Letting misunderstandings stand. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush the dust off in read more a distracted way The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without the need for self-justification. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.