It is often a minor detail that sets it off. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another when I tried to flip through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Humidity does that. I lingered for more time than was needed, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. You don’t actually see them very much. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes whose origins have become blurred over time. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. 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. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” There was no further explanation given. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama 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 talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They talk about consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That balance feels almost impossible.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. 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 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 dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
I notice dust on read more my fingers from the old volume. 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. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.