A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I reached for a weathered book placed too near the window pane. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, methodically dividing each page, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes that remain hard to verify. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that seems to define modern Burmese history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They emphasize his remarkable consistency. He served as a stationary reference point amidst a sea of change It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to click here maintain.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the feeling stuck. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. 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. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.