The smallest trigger can bring it back. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together when I tried to flip through an old book left beside the window for too long. Such is the nature of humid conditions. My pause was more extended than required, separating the pages one by one, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings whose origins have become blurred over time. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. In an indirect and informal manner. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now I think that response was perfect.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. 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 thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that seems to define modern Burmese history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. 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 find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as if there was no other place he needed to be. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the feeling stuck. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Letting misunderstandings stand. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require 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 is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I wipe it away without thinking. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that some lives leave a deep impression. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that website to me. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.