A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume resting in proximity to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I lingered for more time than was needed, separating the pages one by one, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations that remain hard to verify. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once In an indirect and informal manner. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional 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. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. tharmanay kyaw It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Letting misunderstandings stand. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I don’t know if he thought about these things. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I brush it off absentmindedly. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Utility is not the only measure of value. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain lives leave an imprint without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.