It is often a minor detail that sets it off. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume placed too near the window pane. Humidity does that. I paused longer than necessary, separating the pages one by one, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. They are not often visible in the conventional way. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes that remain hard to verify. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through 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. Without directness or any sense of formality. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. One can appreciate wisdom from a get more info great distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions They talk about 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. That balance feels almost impossible.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Memory blurs people together. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. 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 fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. The dialogues that were never held. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.