A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume that’s been sitting too close to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, separating the pages one by one, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that remain hard to verify. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. 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 recall an occasion when I inquired about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now I think that response was perfect.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A monk adjusting his robe, click here slowly, carefully, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Missing conversations you could have had. Letting misunderstandings stand. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that some lives leave a deep impression. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.