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 turned the pages of a long-neglected book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Humidity does that. My pause was more extended than required, separating the pages one by one, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations 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. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I remember once asking someone about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness requires a presence that is maintained day in and day out.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as though he possessed all the time in the world. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Missing conversations you could have had. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I wipe it away without thinking. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. At times, it is enough just to admit. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure here in my eyes. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.