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 that’s been sitting too close to the window. Humidity does that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, separating the pages one by one, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations which lack a definitive source. 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. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” That was it. No elaboration. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. 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. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that characterizes the modern history of Burma. 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 were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the feeling stuck. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. more info I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Missing conversations you could have had. Letting misunderstandings stand. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I wipe it away without thinking. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not everything has to be useful. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.