A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together while I was browsing through an old book placed too near the window pane. It's a common result of humidity. I lingered for more time than was needed, separating the pages one by one, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. They are not often visible in the conventional way. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations whose origins have become blurred over time. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. In an indirect and informal manner. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was it. No elaboration. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that check here has come to represent modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That balance feels almost impossible.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
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. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Missing conversations you could have had. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything needs to have a clear use. At times, it is enough just to admit. that some lives leave a deep impression. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.