The smallest trigger can bring it back. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together when I reached for a weathered book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I paused longer than necessary, 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. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that remain hard to verify. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. 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 room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. Wisdom is here a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They emphasize his remarkable consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as though he possessed all the time in the world. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the feeling stuck. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. At times, it is enough just to admit. that certain lives leave an imprint without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.