The smallest trigger can bring it back. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I tried to flip through an old book left beside the window for too long. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. You don’t actually see them very much. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes which are difficult to attribute exactly. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Not directly, not in a formal way. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that has come to represent modern Burmese 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. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory get more info tends to merge separate figures over time. But the feeling stuck. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. 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 am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I wipe it away without thinking. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain lives leave an imprint without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.