It is often a minor detail that sets it off. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together while I was browsing through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes that remain hard to verify. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. In a casual, non-formal tone. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. 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 bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as though he possessed all the time in the world. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the sense of the moment remained strong. 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 sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. The dialogues that were never held. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I don’t know if he get more info thought about these things. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.