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 reached for a weathered book left beside the window for too long. It's a common result of humidity. My pause was more extended than required, methodically dividing each page, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. You don’t actually see them very much. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations that remain hard to verify. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I remember once asking someone about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” There was no further explanation given. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom can be admired from afar. But steadiness click here must be practiced consistently in every moment.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding 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 were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That balance feels almost impossible.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
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 quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. The dialogues that were never held. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require 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.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.