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. That is the effect of damp air. I paused longer than necessary, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which are difficult to attribute exactly. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once In a casual, non-formal tone. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was it. No elaboration. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden get more info rebuilding that characterizes the modern history of Burma. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. 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 monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he possessed all the time in the world. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I wipe it away without thinking. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain lives leave an imprint without ever trying to explain themselves. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.