It is often a minor detail that sets it off. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together while I was browsing through an old book left beside the window for too long. Moisture has a way of doing that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, separating the pages one by one, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes that no one can quite place. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once In an indirect and informal manner. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint 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, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his website life. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They talk about consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That balance feels almost impossible.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as though he possessed all the time in the world. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Letting misunderstandings stand. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without the need for self-justification. 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.