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. Humidity does that. I lingered for more time than was needed, ungluing each page with care, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes whose origins have become blurred over time. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
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 individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. An image of a monk arranging his robes click here with great deliberation, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
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 subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Letting misunderstandings stand. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I wipe it away without thinking. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not everything has to be useful. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.