A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book placed too near the window pane. It's a common result of humidity. I paused longer than necessary, separating the pages one by one, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
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, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which lack a definitive source. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I remember once asking someone about him. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that characterizes the modern history of Burma. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell more info 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. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Memory blurs people together. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Letting misunderstandings stand. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush it off absentmindedly. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain lives leave an imprint without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.