Something small triggers it. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book kept on a shelf too close to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, separating the pages one by one, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations that no one can quite place. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. 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. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. 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 which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That balance feels almost impossible.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. 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. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual tharmanay kyaw eye. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that some lives leave a deep impression. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.