Something small triggers it. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together when I reached for a weathered book resting in proximity to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I lingered for more time than was needed, separating the pages one by one, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. You don’t actually see them very much. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes which lack a definitive source. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I remember once asking someone about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. 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 which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as if there was no other place he needed to be. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the click here daily cost. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.