A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together while I was browsing through an old book left beside the window for too long. Such is the nature of humid conditions. My pause was more extended than required, methodically dividing each page, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations that remain hard to verify. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once Not directly, not in a formal way. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Now I think that response was perfect.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. Wisdom can be admired from afar. 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 that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. But the feeling stuck. The sense of total freedom from 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. Missing conversations you could have had. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. On occasion, it is here sufficient simply to recognize. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.