The smallest trigger can bring it back. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another when I reached for a weathered book kept on a shelf too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I paused longer than necessary, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes whose origins have become blurred over time. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Without directness or any sense of formality. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he possessed all the time in the world. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require 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 clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. more info Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain lives leave an imprint without the need for self-justification. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.