A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together when I reached for a weathered book placed too near the window pane. That is the effect of damp air. My pause was more extended than required, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which are difficult to attribute exactly. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… he possesses great steadiness.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now I think that response was perfect.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. 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.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Political shifts, social shifts, the slow erosion and sudden rebuilding that seems to define modern Burmese history. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he was a reference point that didn’t move while everything else did. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, 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 click here over time. However, the emotion associated with it persisted. The feeling of being unburdened by the demands of society.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily existence. Silent sacrifices that do not seem like losses to the casual eye. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. 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.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. Not everything has to be useful. At times, it is enough just to admit. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.