Something small triggers it. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book placed too near the window pane. That is the effect of damp air. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, methodically dividing each page, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings whose origins have become blurred over time. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once In a casual, non-formal tone. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was it. No elaboration. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. 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 my back wanted a different kind of complaint 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 is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that characterizes the modern history of Burma. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They speak primarily of his consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That balance feels almost impossible.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. The dialogues that were never held. Letting misunderstandings stand. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I remove the dust without much thought. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that more info way.