Something small triggers it. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I tried to flip through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I paused longer than necessary, ungluing each page with care, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that no one can quite place. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply 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 keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. 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 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. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I often reflect on the check here sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. The dialogues that were never held. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I wipe it away without thinking. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that certain lives leave an imprint without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.