The smallest trigger can bring it back. The trigger today was the sound of paper sticking together when I reached for a weathered book resting in proximity to the window. That is the effect of damp air. I paused longer than necessary, separating the pages one by one, and his name drifted back to me, softly and without warning.
There is something enigmatic about figures of such respect. Their presence is seldom seen in a literal manner. Or perhaps they are perceived only from afar, conveyed via narratives, memories, and fragmented sayings that no one can quite place. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. A lack of showmanship, a lack of haste, and a lack of justification. And those absences say more than most words ever could.
I remember seeking another's perspective on him once In an indirect and informal manner. Simply a passing remark, like a comment on the climate. The person gave a nod and a faint smile, then remarked “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” That was it. No elaboration. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. Looking back, I realize the answer was ideal.
Currently, the sun is in its mid-afternoon position. 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. I am reflecting on the nature of steadiness and how seldom it is found. 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.
The life of Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw spanned an era of great upheaval. Shifts in the political and social landscape, alongside the constant flux of rebuilding that has come to represent modern Burmese history. And still, more info when he is the subject of conversation, people don't dwell on his beliefs or stances. They talk about 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. Such a balance appears almost beyond human capability.
I find myself mentally revisiting a brief instant, although I am not certain the event occurred exactly as I recall. A bhikkhu slowly and methodically adjusting his traditional robes, as if there was no other place he needed to be. Perhaps that monk was not Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw at all. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. Nonetheless, the impression remained. That feeling of being unhurried by the expectations of the world.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Forgoing interactions that might have taken place. Permitting errors in perception to remain. Accepting the projections of others without complaint. I don’t know if he thought about these things. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
My hands are now covered in dust from the old book. I remove the dust without much thought. Composing this reflection feels somewhat gratuitous, but in a good way. Not all reflections need to serve a specific purpose. Occasionally, it is adequate to merely acknowledge. that specific lives leave a profound imprint. without ever attempting to provide an explanation. I perceive Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw in exactly that way. An aura that is sensed rather than understood, and perhaps intended to remain so.