A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another when I reached for a weathered book resting in proximity to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I paused longer than necessary, methodically dividing each page, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings 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. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once Not directly, not in a formal way. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. One can appreciate wisdom from website a great distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. 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 feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. At times, it is enough just to admit. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.