Something small triggers it. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together while I was browsing through an old book resting in proximity to the window. That is the effect of damp air. My pause was more extended than required, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes which are difficult to attribute exactly. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that has come to represent modern Burmese history. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as though he possessed all the time in the world. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Accepting the projections of others tharmanay kyaw without complaint. 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 brush it off absentmindedly. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything has to be useful. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain lives leave an imprint never having sought to explain their own nature. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.