It is often a minor detail that sets it off. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume that’s been sitting too close to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. You don’t actually see them very much. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings which lack a definitive source. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now I think that response was perfect.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. 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 allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They talk about 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 balance feels almost impossible.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, although I cannot be sure my here memory of it is perfectly true. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. Nonetheless, the impression remained. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I find myself questioning the personal toll of being such an individual. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I don’t know if he thought about these things. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not everything needs to have a clear use. At times, it is enough just to admit. that certain lives leave an 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.