Something small triggers it. This particular time, the sound of sticky pages was the cause when I tried to flip through an old book that’s been sitting too close to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. My pause was more extended than required, ungluing each page with care, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes whose origins have become blurred over time. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once In an indirect and informal manner. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
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 yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They emphasize his remarkable consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as though he possessed all the time in the world. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. The dialogues that were never held. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Allowing others to project whatever they need click here onto you. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. 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. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without the need for self-justification. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.