The smallest trigger can bring it back. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together when I tried to flip through an old book placed too near the window pane. Such is the nature of humid conditions. My pause was more extended than required, ungluing each page with care, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. You don’t actually see them very much. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which are difficult to attribute exactly. 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. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I remember once asking someone about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” There was no further explanation given. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That level of here balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as though he possessed all the time in the world. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I remove the dust without much thought. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything needs to have a clear use. 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.