The smallest trigger can bring it back. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I reached for a weathered book left beside the window for too long. That is the effect of damp air. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, separating the pages one by one, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations that remain hard to verify. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once Not directly, not in a formal way. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. 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 talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions They talk about consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That balance feels almost impossible.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as if there was no other place he needed to be. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Memory blurs people together. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not everything needs to have a clear use. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain lives leave an imprint never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence click here that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.