I find myself wondering when I first came across the name of Jatila Sayadaw, but my memory is proving elusive. There was no distinct starting point or any significant introduction. It’s more like... you know when you notice a tree in your yard is suddenly huge, yet the day-to-day stages of its growth have escaped your memory? It’s just there. The name Jatila Sayadaw was simply present, possessing a familiarity that required no explanation.
I’m sitting here now, early— though not "sunrise" early, just that weird, grey in-between time when the light hasn't quite made up its mind yet. The steady, repetitive sound of sweeping drifts in from the street. It highlights my own lack of motion as I sit here, partially awake, musing on a monk who remains a stranger to my physical experience. Merely fragmented memories. General impressions.
He is often described with the word "revered" in various conversations. That is a term of great substance and meaning. But when they say it about Jatila Sayadaw, it doesn’t sound loud or formal. It suggests a quality of... profound care. As if individuals become more cautious with their speech whenever his name is mentioned. There is an underlying quality of restraint present. I return to this idea—the concept of restraint. It feels so out of place these days, doesn't it? Everything else is about reaction, speed, being seen. He feels as if he belonged to a different drumbeat altogether. A state where time is not viewed as something to be "hacked" or maximized. You just inhabit it. It sounds wonderful in text, but I suspect it is quite difficult to achieve.
I maintain a specific mental visualization of him, even if it is a construction based on fragments of lore and other perceptions. I see him walking; merely treading a path in the monastery, more info eyes cast down, his steps rhythmic. It is devoid of any sense of theatricality. 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.
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. Discussion always returns to his discipline and his seamless practice. It appears as though his individuality... receded to allow the lineage to find its own voice. I occasionally muse on that idea. Whether letting the "self" vanish in such a way is a form of freedom or a form of confinement. I'm not sure if I'm even asking the correct question.
The light is at last beginning to alter, increasing in brightness. I've been reviewing this text and I nearly chose to delete it. The writing appears a little chaotic, maybe even somewhat without consequence. 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 personify the reverse of that tendency. He did not choose silence merely to be still; he simply required nothing additional.
I'll end it there. These words do not constitute a formal biography. It is merely an observation of how certain names persist, even without an effort to retain them. They just stay. Steady.