Something small triggers it. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book resting in proximity to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I lingered for more time than was needed, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Perhaps their presence is only felt from a great distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations which are difficult to attribute exactly. Regarding Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, my understanding comes primarily from what is missing. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once In an indirect and informal manner. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Now I think that response was perfect.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Perhaps my body sought a more info new form of discomfort today. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. We prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. 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. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. But the feeling stuck. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. The dialogues that were never held. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. 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’s dust on my hands now from the book. I brush the dust off in a distracted way Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence felt more than understood, and maybe meant to stay that way.