Something small triggers it. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book left beside the window for too long. Moisture has a way of doing that. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, ungluing each page with care, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. You don’t actually see them very much. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes whose origins have become blurred over time. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Not directly, not in a formal way. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” There was no further explanation given. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Now I think that response was perfect.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Throughout his years, more info Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that seems to define modern Burmese history. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. 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. That balance feels almost impossible.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain existences leave a lasting trace. never having sought to explain their own nature. 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.