The smallest trigger can bring it back. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book placed too near the window pane. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I lingered for more time than was needed, separating the pages one by one, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations that no one can quite place. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I remember once asking someone about him. Without directness or any sense of formality. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” That was it. No elaboration. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply 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 thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Yet, when individuals recall his life, they don't emphasize his perspectives or allegiances They focus on the consistency of his character. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. That particular harmony feels incredibly rare
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the feeling stuck. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Choosing not to engage in certain conversations. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I cannot say if click here he ever pondered these things. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I wipe it away without thinking. The act of writing this feels almost superfluous, and I say that with respect. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels very much like that to me. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.