The smallest trigger can bring it back. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume kept on a shelf too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I paused longer than necessary, carefully detaching the sheets individually, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. You don’t actually see them very much. If seen at all, it is typically from a remote perspective, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations 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. In many ways, these absences are more descriptive than any language
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Not directly, not in a formal way. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” That was the extent of it, with no further detail. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. The illumination is flat, lacking any golden or theatrical quality—it is simply light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. Maybe I am testing a new type of physical strain today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. We talk about wisdom a lot, but steadiness feels harder. Wisdom is something we can respect from the outside. Steadiness has to be lived next to, day after day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw navigated a lifetime of constant change Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or website personal opinions 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. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Memory blurs people together. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I find myself wondering, often, what it costs to be that kind of person. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. The dialogues that were never held. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. Allowing people to see in you whatever they require Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not everything needs to have a clear use. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that certain existences leave a lasting trace. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.