A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume left beside the window for too long. Humidity does that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes which are difficult to attribute exactly. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. Not directly, not in a formal way. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” There was no further explanation given. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Maybe my back wanted a different here kind of complaint today. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he possessed all the time in the world. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. 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. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I brush it off absentmindedly. 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. without ever trying to explain themselves. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.