Something small triggers it. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another when I reached for a weathered book resting in proximity to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I paused longer than necessary, ungluing each page with care, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. They are not often visible in the conventional way. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which lack a definitive source. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I remember once asking someone about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. 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 am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more info more arduous path. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions They speak primarily of his consistency. He served as a stationary reference point amidst a sea of change How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, 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. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything needs to have a clear use. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. 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.