A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume placed too near the window pane. It's a common result of humidity. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which lack a definitive source. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I remember once asking someone about him. In a casual, non-formal tone. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. 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. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They talk about consistency. 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.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that get more info kind of person. 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. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. 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. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.