The smallest trigger can bring it back. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another when I reached for a weathered book placed too near the window pane. Moisture has a way of doing that. My pause was more extended than required, separating the pages one by one, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. You don’t actually see them very much. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes whose origins have become blurred over time. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. In a casual, non-formal tone. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” 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’s mid-afternoon where I am. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just 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. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that has come to represent modern Burmese history. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions They emphasize his remarkable consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that website stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. 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. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. 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. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I remove the dust without much thought. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.