It is often a minor detail that sets it off. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together when I tried to flip through an old book that’s been sitting too close to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, methodically dividing each page, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations that no one can quite place. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. 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 an occasion when I inquired about him. Not directly, not in a formal way. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was it. No elaboration. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. 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 witnessed immense transformations during his life. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They focus on the consistency of his character. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, although I cannot be tharmanay kyaw sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. 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. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I wipe it away without thinking. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without the need for self-justification. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.