Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book kept on a shelf too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I lingered for more time than was needed, separating the pages one by one, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes whose origins have become blurred over time. 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. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They talk about consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that click here stayed still while the environment fluctuated. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Missing conversations you could have had. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I remove the dust without much thought. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not everything has to be useful. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without the need for self-justification. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.