The smallest trigger can bring it back. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book placed too near the window pane. Humidity does that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes which lack a definitive source. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once Not directly, not in a formal way. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he possessed all the time in the world. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. 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 grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
My hands are click here now covered in dust from the old book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way 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 specific lives leave a profound imprint. never having sought to explain their own nature. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.