The smallest trigger can bring it back. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume resting in proximity to the window. Humidity does that. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which are difficult to attribute exactly. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I remember once asking someone about him. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was it. No elaboration. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. 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. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They emphasize his remarkable consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
There’s more info a small moment I keep replaying, 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. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I remove the dust without much thought. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. At times, it is enough just to admit. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.