A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume left beside the window for too long. Such is the nature of humid conditions. My pause was more extended than required, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. You don’t actually see them very much. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that remain hard to verify. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. 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… he possesses great steadiness.” 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 am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They talk about consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That balance feels almost impossible.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Missing conversations you could have had. Letting misunderstandings stand. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not everything has to be useful. At times, it is enough just get more info to admit. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. never having sought to explain their own nature. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.