The smallest trigger can bring it back. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I tried to flip through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Humidity does that. I paused longer than necessary, ungluing each page with care, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. 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 that no one can quite place. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. Not directly, not in a formal way. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They focus on the consistency of his character. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That balance feels almost impossible.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my check here mind, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as though he possessed all the time in the world. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. Nonetheless, the impression remained. 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 theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. 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.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything needs to have a clear use. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain lives leave an imprint without ever attempting to provide an explanation. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.