Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together when I reached for a weathered book resting in proximity to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, separating the pages one by one, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings whose origins have become blurred over time. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. In an indirect and informal manner. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now I think that response was perfect.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden 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. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. But the feeling stuck. That impression tharmanay kyaw of not being hurried by external pressures.
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. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.