The smallest trigger can bring it back. 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. It's a common result of humidity. I lingered for more time than was needed, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, perceived via the medium of lore, recollections, and broken quotes that no one can quite place. 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. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now I think that response was perfect.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like click here the more arduous path. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that has come to represent modern Burmese history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Memory blurs people together. But the feeling stuck. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Utility is not the only measure of value. On occasion, it is sufficient simply to recognize. that certain lives leave an imprint without feeling the need to explain their own existence. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.