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 resting in proximity to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I lingered for more time than was needed, ungluing each page with care, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations which are difficult to attribute exactly. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once In an indirect and informal manner. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Now I think that response was perfect.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views website or stances. They focus on the consistency of his character. 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, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. The dialogues that were never held. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that some lives leave a deep impression. without the need for self-justification. 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.