I have been trying to pinpoint when I first became aware of the name Jatila Sayadaw, but my mind offers no clarity on the matter. It wasn't as if there was a definitive event or a formal announcement. It is like the realization that a tree on your grounds is now massive, without ever having observed the incremental steps of its development? 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— not quite at the moment of sunrise, but in that grey, liminal space before the sun has fully declared the day. I can hear someone sweeping outside, a really steady, rhythmic sound. It makes me feel somewhat idle as I sit here in a state of semi-awareness, reflecting on a monastic with whom I had no direct contact. Just fragments. Impressions.
The term "revered" is frequently applied when people discuss him. It’s a heavy word, isn't it? When spoken in relation to Jatila Sayadaw, it doesn't come across as loud or rigid. It suggests a quality of... profound care. It is as though people choose their vocabulary more carefully when discussing him. A palpable sense of self-control accompanies his memory. I find myself reflecting on this quality—the quality of restraint. It appears remarkably inconsistent with today's trends, wouldn't you say? Everything else is about reaction, speed, being seen. He seems to belong to a completely different rhythm. A temporal sense where time is not for optimization or control. You just inhabit it. It sounds wonderful in text, but I suspect it is quite difficult to achieve.
I click here have a clear image of him in my thoughts, even if it is a construction based on fragments of lore and other perceptions. He is pacing slowly on a monastery path, gaze lowered, his stride perfectly steady. It isn't a performative movement. He’s not doing it for an audience, even if people happened to be watching. Perhaps I am viewing it too romantically, yet that is the version that lingers.
Interestingly, one rarely hears "personality-driven" anecdotes about him. There are no clever anecdotes or witty sayings that people pass around like souvenirs. Discussion always returns to his discipline and his seamless practice. It is as if his persona... moved aside to let the tradition be heard. I occasionally muse on that idea. Whether it feels like a form of liberty or a restriction to let the self vanish. I am unsure; I may not even be asking the most relevant question.
The light is changing now and becoming brighter. I’ve been looking over what I’ve written and I almost deleted it. The writing appears a little chaotic, maybe even somewhat without consequence. But perhaps that is the actual point. Thinking about him highlights how much noise I typically add to the world. How much I desire to replace the quiet with something considered "useful." He appears to represent the contrary impulse. He wasn't silent for quiet's sake; he just didn't seem to require anything more.
I shall conclude my thoughts here. This writing is not a biography in any formal sense. I am simply noting how particular names endure, even when one is not consciously grasping them. They just stay. Steady.