Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume left beside the window for too long. Moisture has a way of doing that. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, methodically dividing each page, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which lack a definitive source. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I remember once asking someone about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama 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. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding 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 served as a stationary reference point amidst a sea of change It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. The feeling of click here being unburdened by the demands of society.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I wipe it away without thinking. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.