I’ve been trying to figure out where I first heard the name Jatila Sayadaw, but my mind offers no clarity on the matter. It wasn't as if there was a definitive event or any significant introduction. It is similar to the way one observes that a tree in the yard has become quite tall, without having any clear recollection of the actual growing process? It simply exists. By the time I noticed it, his name was already an unquestioned and familiar presence.
I’m sitting here now, early— though not "sunrise" early, just that weird, grey in-between time when the morning light remains undecided. I can hear someone sweeping outside, a really steady, rhythmic sound. This rhythmic sound emphasizes my stillness as I remain half-asleep, reflecting on a monastic with whom I had no direct contact. Just disconnected shards of information. Vague impressions.
The term "revered" is frequently applied when people discuss him. It is a descriptor that carries considerable gravity. But when they say it about Jatila Sayadaw, it doesn’t sound loud or formal. It sounds more like... carefulness. As if individuals become more cautious with their speech whenever his name is mentioned. One perceives a distinct sense of moderation in that space. I continue to ponder that specific trait—restraint. Such a characteristic seems quite foreign in the modern world, does it not? Everything else is about reaction, speed, being seen. He appears to move to a different rhythm. A temporal sense where time is not for optimization or control. You simply live it. Such a more info notion is attractive in theory, but I believe the application is considerably harder.
I have this image of him in my head, though I might have just made it up from bits of old stories or other things I've seen. I see him walking; merely treading a path in the monastery, eyes cast down, his steps rhythmic. It does not appear to be an act. He isn't performing for others, even if there were onlookers nearby. Perhaps I am viewing it too romantically, yet that is the version that lingers.
It is notable that few people share stories concerning his individual character traits. No one passes around clever anecdotes or humorous sayings as mementos of him. The focus remains solely on his rigor and his unwavering persistence. It is as if his persona... moved aside to let the tradition be heard. I think about that on occasion. If it feels like freedom to let your "self" disappear like that, or if it feels like a narrowing. I lack the conclusion; perhaps I am not even posing the right question.
The morning light is eventually shifting, becoming more intense. I have been examining my notes and almost chose to discard them. It feels a bit messy, maybe even a little pointless. But maybe that futility is the whole point. Pondering his life reveals the noise I typically contribute to the world. The frequency with which I attempt to fill the stillness with something "valuable." He appears to represent the contrary impulse. He wasn't silent just for the sake of quiet; he simply didn't seem to need anything superfluous.
I’m just going to leave it at that. These words do not constitute a formal biography. It's just me noticing how some names linger, even when you aren't trying to hold onto them. They simply remain. Consistent.