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 kept on a shelf too close to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I paused longer than necessary, methodically dividing each page, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations whose origins have become blurred over time. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. Not directly, not in a formal way. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “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 am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that has come to represent modern Burmese history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They emphasize his remarkable consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. click here I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the sense of the moment remained strong. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Letting misunderstandings stand. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I wipe it away without thinking. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.