Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume kept on a shelf too close to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. My pause was more extended than required, methodically dividing each page, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations that no one can quite place. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I remember once asking someone about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now I think that response was perfect.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. 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. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They emphasize his remarkable consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as though he possessed all the time in the world. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The here subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. The dialogues that were never held. Letting misunderstandings stand. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. 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 clean my hands in an unthinking manner. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything needs to have a clear use. At times, it is enough just to admit. that certain lives leave an imprint without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.