I have been searching for the moment how the name Jatila Sayadaw first entered my awareness, but my mind offers no clarity on the matter. It’s not like there was a specific moment or a formal debut. It is akin to realizing a tree in your garden has become unexpectedly large, but you can’t actually remember the process of it growing? It is merely present. By the time I noticed it, his name was already an unquestioned and familiar presence.
I am sitting at my desk in the early hours— not exactly at the break of dawn, but during that hazy, transitional period before the sun has fully declared the day. I can detect the faint, rhythmic sound of a broom outside. It creates a sense of lethargy as I sit in a semi-conscious state, thinking about a monk I never actually met, at least not in any way that counts. Only small fragments and fleeting impressions.
People use the word "revered" a lot when they talk about him. That is a word with significant weight, is it not? However, when used in reference to Jatila Sayadaw, it lacks any sense of boisterousness or formality. It feels more like... a deliberate carefulness. Like people are just a little more deliberate with their words when his name comes up. There is an underlying quality of restraint present. I find myself reflecting on this quality—the quality of restraint. It feels entirely disconnected from contemporary society. Current trends are all about reaction, speed, and visibility. Jatila Sayadaw appears to inhabit a fundamentally different cadence. A cadence where time is not something to be controlled or improved. You simply live it. That concept is elegant in writing, though I suspect the reality is far more demanding.
I have a clear image of him in my thoughts, although it may be an assembly of old narratives and various impressions. I see him walking; merely treading a path in the monastery, eyes cast down, his steps rhythmic. It doesn’t look like a performance. He is not seeking an audience, even if he is being watched. Perhaps I am viewing it too romantically, yet that is the version that lingers.
It’s funny, no one really tells "personality" stories about him. 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 the tradition be more info heard. I occasionally muse on that idea. If the disappearance of the "self" is perceived as an expansive freedom or a narrowing of experience. I lack the conclusion; perhaps I am not even posing the right question.
The light is changing now and becoming brighter. I've been reviewing this text and I nearly chose to delete it. The reflection seems somewhat disorganized, perhaps even a bit futile. But perhaps that is the actual point. Thinking about him makes me realize how much noise I usually make. How much I feel the need to fill up the silence with something "useful." He appears to be the reverse of that. He wasn't silent for quiet's sake; he just didn't seem to require anything more.
I'll end it there. This isn't really a biography or anything. It is just me noting how some names stay with you even without effort. They just linger. Unwavering.