The smallest trigger can bring it back. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together while I was browsing through an old book resting in proximity to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, ungluing each page with care, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. You don’t actually see them very much. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes that remain hard to verify. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. 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 moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. 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 requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that seems to define modern Burmese history. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. 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 were in no hurry to go anywhere else. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Missing conversations you could have had. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Perhaps more info he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I wipe it away without thinking. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain lives leave an imprint never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.