A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together while I was browsing through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, methodically dividing each page, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes that no one can quite place. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. Without directness or any sense of formality. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” That was it. No elaboration. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. 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. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that characterizes the modern history of Burma. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They focus on the consistency of his character. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That balance feels almost impossible.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, 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 might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. 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. Forgoing interactions read more that might have taken place. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. 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 brush the dust off in a distracted way Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that some lives leave a deep impression. without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.