Often, a trivial event serves as the catalyst. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together when I reached for a weathered book left beside the window for too long. Moisture has a way of doing that. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not often visible in the conventional way. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, filtered through stories, recollections, half-remembered quotes that remain hard to verify. 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 once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. In an indirect and informal manner. Just a casual question, as if I were asking about the weather. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the moment, I felt somewhat underwhelmed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I have chosen to sit on the ground rather than the seat, without a specific motive. 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 can be admired from afar. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw witnessed immense transformations during his life. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise which appears to be the hallmark of contemporary Myanmar's history. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They speak primarily of his consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. I’m not sure how someone manages that without becoming rigid. That balance feels almost impossible.
A small scene continues to replay in my thoughts, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. It is possible that the figure was not actually Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. Memory blurs people together. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. I do not mean in a grand way, but in the small details of each day. check here The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Allowing misconceptions to go uncorrected. Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. Whether he reflected on these matters is unknown to me. Perhaps he was free of such concerns, and maybe that's the key.
My hands have become dusty from handling the book. I wipe it away without thinking. Writing this feels slightly unnecessary, and I mean that in a good way. Utility is not the only measure of value. At times, it is enough just to admit. that certain lives leave an imprint without ever attempting to provide an explanation. To me, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw embodies that quality. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.