Something small triggers it. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Humidity does that. I lingered for more time than was needed, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. You don’t actually see them very much. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes which lack a definitive source. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I remember once asking someone about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. 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. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. here Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They focus on the consistency of his character. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as though he possessed all the time in the world. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
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. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Utility is not the only measure of value. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. 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 to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.