I find myself wondering when I first came across the name of Jatila Sayadaw, yet my memory refuses to provide a clear answer. It didn't happen through a single notable instance or any significant introduction. It is akin to realizing a tree in your garden has become unexpectedly large, without ever having observed the incremental steps of its development? It is simply a part of the landscape. His name was just there, familiar in a way I never really questioned.
I am sitting at my desk in the early hours— though not "sunrise" early, just that weird, grey in-between time when the morning light remains undecided. I can detect the faint, rhythmic sound of a broom outside. It makes me feel a bit slow, just sitting here half-awake, contemplating a monk I never met in person. Just fragments. Impressions.
People use the word "revered" a lot when they talk about him. That is a word with significant weight, is it not? In the context of Jatila Sayadaw, this word is neither loud nor overly formal. It feels more like... a deliberate carefulness. Like people are a bit more measured in their speech when he is the topic. There’s this sense of restraint there. I return to this idea—the concept of restraint. It seems quite unusual in this day and age. Contemporary life is dominated by reaction, speed, and the need for recognition. He appears to move to a different rhythm. A cadence where time is not something to be controlled or improved. One simply dwells within it. While that idea is appealing on paper, I imagine it is much more difficult to realize in practice.
I find myself returning to a certain image in my mind, though I might have just made it up from bits of old stories or other things I've seen. He’s walking. Just walking down a monastery path, eyes down, steps completely even. It does not appear get more info to be an act. He is not seeking an audience, even if he is being watched. I may be romanticizing it, but that is the image that remains.
It’s funny, no one really tells "personality" stories about him. There is an absence of witty stories or memorable quotes being circulated like keepsakes. Discussion always returns to his discipline and his seamless practice. It’s almost as if his personality just... stepped back to let the tradition speak. I find myself contemplating that possibility. If it feels like freedom to let your "self" disappear like that, or if it feels like a narrowing. I am unsure; I may not even be asking the most relevant question.
The light is finally starting to change now. It’s getting brighter. I have reviewed these words and came close to erasing them. It feels a bit disorganized and perhaps a little futile. But maybe that futility is the whole point. Thinking of him brings to light how much mental and verbal noise I usually create. How often I feel the need to fill the silence with something considered useful. He appears to be the reverse of that. His quietude wasn't for its own sake; he just appeared to have no need for anything extra.
I will finish these reflections at this point. This is not a biography. It is just a realization of how certain names stay with you, even when you aren't trying to keep them. They just linger. Unwavering.