Something small triggers it. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together while I was browsing through an old book resting in proximity to the window. It's a common result of humidity. My pause was more extended than required, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which lack a definitive source. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Without directness or any sense of formality. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. 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 read more transformations during his life. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise 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 talk about consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Missing conversations you could have had. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain lives leave an imprint without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.