I’ve been trying to figure out where I first heard the name Jatila Sayadaw, but my memory is being stubborn. There was no grand occasion or a formal debut. It is like the realization that a tree on your grounds is now massive, yet the day-to-day stages of its growth have escaped your memory? It’s just there. By the time I noticed it, his name was already an unquestioned and familiar presence.
I am positioned here in the early morning— though not "sunrise" early, just that weird, grey in-between time where the daylight is still hesitant. I can hear someone sweeping outside, a really steady, rhythmic sound. It creates a sense of lethargy as I sit in a semi-conscious state, pondering a member of the Sangha I never personally encountered, at least not formally. Just fragments. Impressions.
The term "revered" is frequently applied when people discuss him. It’s a heavy word, isn't it? But when they say it about Jatila Sayadaw, it doesn’t sound loud or formal. It sounds more like... carefulness. As if there is a collective slowing down of speech when his name is the subject. There’s this sense of restraint there. I keep thinking about that—restraint. It feels so out of place these days, doesn't it? Most other things prioritize immediate response, rapid pace, and public visibility. He seems to have been part of an entirely different temporal flow. A rhythm in which time is not a resource to be managed or exploited. You simply exist in it. Such a notion is attractive in theory, but I believe the application is considerably harder.
I find myself returning to a certain image in my mind, though I may have created it from old anecdotes or half-remembered sights. He is walking slowly down a monastery path, with his eyes lowered and his steps even. It is devoid of any sense of theatricality. He is not acting for the benefit of observers, regardless of who might be present. Perhaps I am viewing it too romantically, yet that is the version that lingers.
Curiously, there is a lack of anecdotal lore about his specific personality. No one passes around clever anecdotes or humorous sayings as mementos of him. The conversation invariably centers on his self-control and his consistency. It is as if his persona... moved aside to let website the tradition be heard. I think about that on occasion. Whether it feels like a form of liberty or a restriction to let the self vanish. I don’t know. I’m not even sure I’m asking the right question.
The light is at last beginning to alter, increasing in brightness. I have reviewed these words and came close to erasing them. It feels somewhat fragmented, or possibly without any clear purpose. However, perhaps that is precisely the essence of it. Reflecting on Jatila Sayadaw highlights the sheer amount of unnecessary noise I produce. The frequency with which I attempt to fill the stillness with something "valuable." He seems to be the opposite of that. He wasn't silent for the sake of being quiet; he just didn't seem to need anything extra.
I will simply leave the matter there. This is not a biography. It is merely an observation of how certain names persist, even without an effort to retain them. They just stay there, steady.