A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together when I tried to flip through an old book left beside the window for too long. That is the effect of damp air. 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. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations whose origins have become blurred over time. 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. 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. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” 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 am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Maybe I am testing a new type here of physical strain today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the sense of the moment remained strong. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I do not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. At times, it is enough just to admit. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.