It is often a minor detail that sets it off. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together while I was browsing through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Humidity does that. My pause was more extended than required, ungluing each page with care, and somehow his name surfaced again, quietly, without asking.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not often visible in the conventional way. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations whose origins have become blurred over time. My knowledge of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw seems rooted in his silences. The void of drama, the void of rush, and the void of commentary. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once Without directness or any sense of formality. Only an offhand query, no different from asking about the rain. The person nodded, smiled a little, and said something like, “Ah, the Sayadaw… he is very stable.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. Initially, I experienced a touch of letdown. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
It’s mid-afternoon where I am. The ambient light is unremarkable, devoid of any drama For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. It could be that my back was looking for a different sensation this afternoon. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. It is easy to admire wisdom from a distance. Steadiness must be lived in close proximity, throughout each day.
The life check here of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Transitions in power and culture, the slow wearing away and the sudden rise that characterizes the modern history of Burma. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. They speak primarily of his consistency. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That level of balance seems nearly impossible to maintain.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, although I cannot be sure my memory of it is perfectly true. An image of a monk arranging his robes with great deliberation, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. 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 often ask myself what the cost of that specific character might be. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. The dialogues that were never held. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s the point.
I notice dust on my fingers from the old volume. I remove the dust without much thought. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. Utility is not the only measure of value. At times, it is enough just to admit. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without the need for self-justification. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.