Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together when I tried to flip through an old book that’s been sitting too close to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I lingered for more time than was needed, separating the pages one by one, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidden.
One finds a unique attribute in esteemed figures like the Sayadaw. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes that no one can quite place. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. Without grandiosity, without speed, and without the need for clarification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. It wasn't a direct or official inquiry. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my spine desired a different sort of challenge this morning. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise 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. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, though I can’t even be sure it really happened the way I remember it. A bhikkhu meticulously and slowly adjusting his attire, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a dramatic fashion, but in the simple cost of daily tharmanay kyaw existence. Those silent concessions that are invisible to the external observer. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. without feeling the need to explain their own existence. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. A presence that is felt more deeply than it is understood, and perhaps it is meant to remain that way.