The smallest trigger can bring it back. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together when I reached for a weathered book that’s been sitting too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, pulling the pages apart one at a time, 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. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which are difficult to attribute exactly. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
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… he possesses great steadiness.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. 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 was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, even more info though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. 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. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush it off absentmindedly. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that specific lives leave a profound imprint. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.