The smallest trigger can bring it back. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another while I was browsing through an old book placed too near the window pane. That is the effect of damp air. I paused longer than necessary, carefully detaching the sheets individually, 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. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations that no one can quite place. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. 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. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” There was no further explanation given. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
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. 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. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding which defines the historical arc of click here modern Burma. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as if there was no other place he needed to be. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. The dialogues that were never held. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Utility is not the only measure of value. At times, it is enough just to admit. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.