It is often a minor detail that sets it off. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together when I tried to flip through an old book left beside the window for too long. Moisture has a way of doing that. I paused longer than necessary, carefully detaching the sheets individually, 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. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which are difficult to attribute exactly. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Not directly, not in a formal way. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that has come to represent modern Burmese history. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. He served as a stationary reference point amidst a sea of change I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. tharmanay kyaw That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he possessed all the time in the world. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Missing conversations you could have had. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush the dust off in a distracted way The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything has to be useful. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.