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 placed too near the window pane. It's a common result of humidity. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations which lack a definitive source. In the case of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I perceive him through his voids. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. Such silences communicate more than a multitude of words.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once Not directly, not in a formal way. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… always so steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Now, I recognize the perfection in that brief response.
It is now mid-afternoon where I sit. The light is dull, not golden, not dramatic. Just light. I am positioned on the floor rather than in a chair, quite arbitrarily. Perhaps my body sought a new form of discomfort today. My thoughts return to the concept of stability and its scarcity. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. One can appreciate wisdom from a great distance. 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 that characterizes the modern history of Burma. And still, when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. It is difficult to understand how one can maintain that state without turning stiff. That balance feels almost impossible.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A monk taking great care to fix his robe in a slow manner, as though he were in no hurry to go anywhere else. That might not even have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. But the feeling stuck. That sense of not being rushed by the world’s expectations.
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. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. The dialogues that were never held. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Permitting individuals to superimpose their own needs upon your image. 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 click here it.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Composing these thoughts seems somewhat redundant, in a positive sense. 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. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.