A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another when I reached for a weathered book that’s been sitting too close to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I lingered for more time than was needed, ungluing each page with care, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes whose origins have become blurred over time. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I remember once asking someone about him. In a casual, non-formal tone. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” There was no further explanation given. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions 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 level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I often here ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. The dialogues that were never held. Letting misunderstandings stand. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not everything has to be useful. At times, it is enough just to admit. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever trying to explain themselves. 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 way.