A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume kept on a shelf too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. My pause was more extended than required, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes which lack a definitive source. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Not directly, not in a formal way. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” There was no further explanation given. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding 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. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, although more info I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. 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. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
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. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. 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 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. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.