A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book placed too near the window pane. Humidity does that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes that remain hard to verify. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. Without directness or any sense of formality. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” There was no further explanation given. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that seems to define modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. 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 more info to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That balance feels almost impossible.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, 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, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without the need for self-justification. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.