The smallest trigger can bring it back. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I reached for a weathered book left beside the window for too long. Humidity does that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, ungluing each page with care, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes that remain hard to verify. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. In an indirect and informal manner. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions They talk about consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. How one avoids rigidity while remaining tharmanay kyaw so constant is a mystery to me. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I remove the dust without much thought. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not everything has to be useful. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.