Something small triggers it. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together when I reached for a weathered book resting in proximity to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I lingered for more time than was needed, methodically dividing each page, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations which lack a definitive source. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is a frequent topic of discussion, yet steadiness seems more difficult to achieve. Wisdom can be admired from afar. But steadiness must be practiced consistently in every moment.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his here life. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They speak primarily of his consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, even though I cannot verify if the memory matches the reality. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as if there was no other place he needed to be. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. The mind often fuses different individuals in memory. But the feeling stuck. The sense of total freedom from the world's expectations.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. The dialogues that were never held. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. 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 it off absentmindedly. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not everything has to be useful. At times, it is enough just to admit. that some lives leave a deep impression. without the need for self-justification. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.