A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I tried to flip through an old book placed too near the window pane. It's a common result of humidity. My pause was more extended than required, separating the pages one by one, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings whose origins have become blurred over time. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. In an indirect and informal manner. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” 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.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented 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 is found. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They focus on the consistency of his character. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, even if I am uncertain tharmanay kyaw if my recollection is entirely accurate. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.