The smallest trigger can bring it back. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another when I reached for a weathered book that’s been sitting too close to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes which lack a definitive source. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just 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. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that characterizes the modern history of Burma. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They talk about consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as if there was no other place he needed to be. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the sense of the moment remained check here strong. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require 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.
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 everything has to be useful. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.