Something small triggers it. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book resting in proximity to the window. Humidity does that. I lingered for more time than was needed, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. You don’t actually see them very much. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which lack a definitive source. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. 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. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. 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 time, I felt slightly disappointed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's 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. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. The dialogues that were never held. Letting misunderstandings stand. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Maybe he more info didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that certain lives leave an imprint never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.