It is often a minor detail that sets it off. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together when I reached for a weathered book placed too near the window pane. That is the effect of damp air. I lingered for more time than was needed, methodically dividing each page, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. You don’t actually see them very much. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which are difficult to attribute exactly. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Not directly, not in a formal way. 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, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented 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 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.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They focus on the consistency of his character. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That balance feels almost impossible.
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. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. The dialogues that were never held. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the here key.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I wipe it away without thinking. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.