A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume resting in proximity to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. My pause was more extended than required, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which are difficult to attribute exactly. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. Without directness or any sense of formality. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. 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 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 must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
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. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions They emphasize his remarkable consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, 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. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. Nonetheless, the impression remained. 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. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Letting misunderstandings stand. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean more info that in a good way. Not everything needs to have a clear use. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. never having sought to explain their own nature. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.