The smallest trigger can bring it back. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another while I was browsing through an old book resting in proximity to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I paused longer than necessary, separating the pages one by one, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which are difficult to attribute exactly. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. In a casual, non-formal tone. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” There was no further explanation given. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. Wisdom is 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.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that has come to represent modern Burmese history. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or check here stances. They focus on the consistency of his character. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. But the feeling stuck. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. The dialogues that were never held. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain lives leave an imprint without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.