The smallest trigger can bring it back. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I tried to flip through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. My pause was more extended than required, ungluing each page with care, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. You don’t actually see them very much. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations that remain hard to verify. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” There was no further explanation given. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply 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 keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that seems to define modern Burmese history. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That balance feels almost impossible.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as if there was no other place he needed to be. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. The dialogues that were never held. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Utility is not the only measure of value. Sometimes it’s enough to click here acknowledge that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.