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 left beside the window for too long. That is the effect of damp air. I lingered for more time than was needed, methodically dividing each page, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes which lack a definitive source. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Not directly, not in a formal way. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, 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 though he possessed all the time in the more info world. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
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. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. At times, it is enough just to admit. that certain lives leave an imprint without feeling the need to explain their own existence. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.