A tiny spark is usually enough to ignite the memory. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together when I tried to flip through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, methodically dividing each page, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
There’s something strange about respected figures like him. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations that remain hard to verify. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I recall asking a person about him on one occasion. Without directness or any sense of formality. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. They nodded, offered a small smile, and uttered something along the lines of “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. In that instance, I felt a minor sense of disappointment. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. 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 prioritize the mention of wisdom, but steadiness is arguably more demanding. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding which defines the historical arc of modern Burma. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They talk about consistency. He was like a fixed coordinate in a landscape of constant motion. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
There is a particular moment that keeps recurring in my mind, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as though he possessed all the time in the world. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory tends to merge separate figures over time. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a theatrical way, but in the subtle daily price. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. The dialogues that were never held. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Allowing others to project more info whatever they need onto you. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I brush it off absentmindedly. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Utility is not the only measure of value. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that some lives leave a deep impression. without ever trying to explain themselves. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.