It is often a minor detail that sets it off. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book left beside the window for too long. Humidity does that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations that remain hard to verify. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. The absence of spectacle. The absence of urgency. The absence of explanation. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I recall an occasion when I inquired about him. In a casual, non-formal tone. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” That was all—no further commentary was provided. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I find myself contemplating steadiness and its actual uniqueness. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They talk about consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It here is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. The dialogues that were never held. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I am unsure if he ever contemplated these issues. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
There’s dust on my hands now from the book. I wipe it away without thinking. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.