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. That is the effect of damp air. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes whose origins have become blurred over time. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. In an indirect and informal manner. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. 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 focus on the consistency of his character. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as if there was no other place he needed to be. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I remove the dust without much thought. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. click here Utility is not the only measure of value. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain lives leave an imprint without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.