It is often a minor detail that sets it off. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume resting in proximity to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. My pause was more extended than required, separating the pages one by one, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. 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. When I think of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, he is defined by his absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. These very voids speak more eloquently than any speech.
I remember once asking someone about him. Not directly, not in a formal way. Merely an incidental inquiry, as if discussing the day's weather. 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. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
Here, it is the middle of the afternoon. The room is filled with a neutral, unornamented light. I find myself sitting on the floor today, for no identifiable cause. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels click here like the more arduous path. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that has come to represent modern Burmese history. Despite this, when he is mentioned, it is not for his political or personal opinions They emphasize his remarkable consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is hard to grasp how he avoided rigidity while staying so firm. Achieving that equilibrium seems nearly unachievable.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as if there was no other place he needed to be. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. But the feeling stuck. The sense of total freedom from 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 existence. The quiet sacrifices that don’t look like sacrifices from the outside. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Letting misunderstandings stand. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I don’t know if he thought about these things. It could be that he didn't, and that may be the very heart of it.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I remove the dust without much thought. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Sometimes, the simple act of acknowledgement is enough. that particular individuals leave a lasting mark. without the need for self-justification. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw is such a figure in my eyes. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.