Something small triggers it. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together when I tried to flip through an old book left beside the window for too long. It's a common result of humidity. My pause was more extended than required, methodically dividing each page, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations whose origins have become blurred over time. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I remember once asking someone about him. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. My companion nodded, smiled gently, and noted “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that seems to define modern Burmese history. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They focus on the consistency of his character. He was like a fixed coordinate click here in a landscape of constant motion. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. 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. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the feeling stuck. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
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. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Letting misunderstandings stand. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.