The smallest trigger can bring it back. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I reached for a weathered book resting in proximity to the window. Humidity does that. I paused longer than necessary, carefully detaching the sheets individually, 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. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes that no one can quite place. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through 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 recall an occasion when I inquired about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” There was no further explanation given. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. 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 allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise 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. He served as a stationary reference point amidst a sea of change How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as if there was no other place he needed to be. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I brush it off absentmindedly. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that certain lives leave an imprint without feeling the need to explain their tharmanay kyaw own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.