It is often a minor detail that sets it off. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together when I reached for a weathered book placed too near the window pane. It's a common result of humidity. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, separating the pages one by one, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes which lack a definitive source. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. In a casual, non-formal tone. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” That was it. No elaboration. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
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. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. He served as a stationary reference point amidst a sea of change How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, 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 if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. 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 frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from check here the outside. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Utility is not the only measure of value. At times, it is enough just to admit. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.