Something small triggers it. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together when I tried to flip through an old book that’s been sitting too close to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I lingered for more time than was needed, separating the pages one by one, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. They are not often visible in the conventional way. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that remain hard to verify. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I remember once asking someone about him. 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 all—no further commentary was provided. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. 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. Wisdom can be admired from afar. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. 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, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing misconceptions to get more info go uncorrected. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require 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.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain lives leave an imprint without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.