Something small triggers it. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together while I was browsing through an old book left beside the window for too long. Moisture has a way of doing that. I paused longer than necessary, methodically dividing each page, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. 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 that remain hard to verify. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I remember once asking someone about him. In an indirect and informal manner. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was it. No elaboration. At first, I felt a little unsatisfied with the answer. Now I think that response was perfect.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep pondering the idea of being steady and the rarity of that quality. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. 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 which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions They focus on the consistency of his character. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. That balance feels almost impossible.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I often reflect on check here the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Missing conversations you could have had. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I wipe it away without thinking. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Not everything has to be useful. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without the need for self-justification. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.