The smallest trigger can bring it back. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume placed too near the window pane. It's a common result of humidity. My pause was more extended than required, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations whose origins have become blurred over time. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “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 think that response was perfect.
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. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as though he possessed all the time in the world. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I don’t know if he thought about these things. 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 clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. never having sought to explain check here their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.