Something small triggers it. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together while I was browsing through an old book resting in proximity to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I paused longer than necessary, ungluing each page with care, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. You don’t actually see them very much. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes that no one can quite place. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once Not directly, not in a formal way. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama 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. We talk about wisdom more info a lot, but steadiness feels harder. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I wipe it away without thinking. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that some lives leave a deep impression. without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.