The smallest trigger can bring it back. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together while I was browsing through an old book placed too near the window pane. Moisture has a way of doing that. My pause was more extended than required, methodically dividing each page, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
There is a peculiar quality to revered personalities such as his. One rarely encounters them in a direct sense. Or maybe you see them, but only from a distance, transmitted through anecdotes, reminiscences, and partial quotations that no one can quite place. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. 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. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… remarkably consistent.” That was it. No elaboration. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Today, I consider that answer to have been entirely appropriate.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. I’m sitting on the floor instead of the chair for no real reason. 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. While wisdom is often discussed, steadiness appears to be the greater challenge. Wisdom can be admired from afar. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Throughout his years, Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw endured vast shifts Changes in politics and society, the gradual decay and rapid reconstruction that characterizes the modern history of Burma. Nevertheless, discussions about him rarely focus on his views or stances. They talk about consistency. As if he were a permanent landmark that stayed still while the environment fluctuated. How one avoids rigidity while remaining so constant is a mystery to me. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
There’s a small moment I keep replaying, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as if he were entirely free from any sense of urgency. It might have been another individual, not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw. People are often blurred together in the landscape of memory. But the sense of the moment remained strong. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I often reflect on the sacrifices required to be a person of that nature. Not in a grand sense, but in the mundane daily sacrifices. The quiet offerings that others might not even recognize as sacrifices. Remaining silent when one could have spoken. Accepting that others may misunderstand you. Letting others project their own expectations onto your silence. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Perhaps he did not, and perhaps that is exactly the essence.
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 get more info good way. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that some lives leave a deep impression. without ever trying to explain themselves. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. An influence that is experienced rather than analyzed, as it should be.