The smallest trigger can bring it back. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I tried to flip through an old book resting in proximity to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I lingered for more time than was needed, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations which are difficult to attribute exactly. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Not directly, not in a formal way. 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 moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Now I think that response was perfect.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels here harder. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They emphasize his remarkable consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. 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, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I remove the dust without much thought. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. At times, it is enough just to admit. that some lives leave a deep impression. without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.