It is often a minor detail that sets it off. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together while I was browsing through an old book placed too near the window pane. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I lingered for more time than was needed, methodically dividing each page, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. You don’t actually see them very much. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which lack a definitive source. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once Without directness or any sense of formality. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” That was it. No elaboration. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. And still, check here when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They focus on the consistency of his character. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. But the underlying feeling stayed with me. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. 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. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush it off absentmindedly. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything has to be useful. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain lives leave an imprint without the need for self-justification. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.