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 placed too near the window pane. It's a common result of humidity. I lingered for more time than was needed, separating the pages one by one, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations that no one can quite place. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I remember once asking someone about him. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. 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 the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama 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 more info seldom it is found. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction 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 speak primarily of his consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the feeling stuck. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. The dialogues that were never held. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Utility is not the only measure of value. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.