It is often a minor detail that sets it off. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I reached for a weathered book resting in proximity to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, ungluing each page with care, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes that remain hard to verify. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. 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 characterizes the modern history of Burma. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. 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. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. Those silent concessions that are invisible more info to the external observer. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Utility is not the only measure of value. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.