Something small triggers it. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume left beside the window for too long. It's a common result of humidity. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, ungluing each page with care, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. You don’t actually see them very much. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations which are difficult to attribute exactly. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I remember once asking someone about him. Not directly, not in a formal way. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” There was no further explanation given. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now I think that response was perfect.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. 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. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Changes in get more info politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's 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 were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the feeling stuck. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Missing conversations you could have had. Letting misunderstandings stand. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.