It is often a minor detail that sets it off. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together when I reached for a weathered book kept on a shelf too close to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. You don’t actually see them very much. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which lack a definitive source. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. 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. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions 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 read more turning stiff. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as though he possessed all the time in the world. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the feeling stuck. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that some lives leave a deep impression. without ever trying to explain themselves. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.