Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book that’s been sitting too close to the window. Humidity does that. I paused longer than necessary, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes that no one can quite place. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was it. No elaboration. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now I think that response was perfect.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that seems to define modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They talk about consistency. 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 particular harmony feels incredibly rare
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as if there was no other place he needed to be. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a more info positive sense. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.