It is often a minor detail that sets it off. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together while I was browsing through an old book placed too near the window pane. That is the effect of damp air. I paused longer than necessary, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations which lack a definitive source. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once In an indirect and informal manner. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” There was no further explanation given. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now I think that response was perfect.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort 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. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that seems to define modern Burmese history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They talk about consistency. 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 though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Recollections tharmanay kyaw have a way of blending people's identities. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I wipe it away without thinking. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Utility is not the only measure of value. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that some lives leave a deep impression. 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.