A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume that’s been sitting too close to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, methodically dividing each page, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. You don’t actually see them very much. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes which are difficult to attribute exactly. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. Not directly, not in a formal way. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply 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. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. But the feeling stuck. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. Those silent concessions that read more are invisible to the external observer. The dialogues that were never held. Letting misunderstandings stand. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I wipe it away without thinking. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.