The smallest trigger can bring it back. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume placed too near the window pane. Humidity does that. I paused longer than necessary, methodically dividing each page, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not often visible in the conventional way. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which lack a definitive source. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once In a casual, non-formal tone. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. 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 can be admired from afar. website Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that has come to represent modern Burmese history. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions They emphasize his remarkable 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. That balance feels almost impossible.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. But the feeling stuck. That sense of not being rushed by 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. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. The dialogues that were never held. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. 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.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I remove the dust without much thought. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain lives leave an imprint never having sought to explain their own nature. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.