Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another while I was browsing through an old book resting in proximity to the window. Humidity does that. I lingered for more time than was needed, separating the pages one by one, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations whose origins have become blurred over time. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once In an indirect and informal manner. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was it. No elaboration. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political here shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that characterizes the modern history of Burma. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
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. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. The dialogues that were never held. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. 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. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.