The smallest trigger can bring it back. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume kept on a shelf too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I paused longer than necessary, separating the pages one by one, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. They are not often visible in the conventional way. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which are difficult to attribute exactly. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. 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. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They focus on the consistency of his character. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great read more deliberation, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. But the sense of the moment remained strong. 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 quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Letting misunderstandings stand. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.