Something small triggers it. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Moisture has a way of doing that. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, methodically dividing each page, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that remain hard to verify. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. Not directly, not in a formal way. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was it. No elaboration. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. 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. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. 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. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I do click here not know if such thoughts ever entered his mind. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.