A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together when I tried to flip through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Humidity does that. I lingered for more time than was needed, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
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, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations which lack a definitive source. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was it. No elaboration. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just 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 am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it read more is found. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. 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 monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I remove the dust without much thought. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.