Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book left beside the window for too long. That is the effect of damp air. I lingered for more time than was needed, separating the pages one by one, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes that no one can quite place. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. In an indirect and informal manner. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” There was no further explanation given. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels more info harder. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They focus on the consistency of his character. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Utility is not the only measure of value. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that certain lives leave an imprint without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.