I find myself wondering where I first heard the name Jatila Sayadaw, yet my memory refuses to provide a clear answer. There was no distinct starting point or an official presentation. It resembles the experience of noticing a tree on your property has matured significantly, without having any clear recollection of the actual growing process? It is merely present. I found his name already ingrained in my thoughts, familiar enough to be accepted without doubt.
Currently, I am sitting in the quiet of early morning— not at the crack of dawn, but in that strange, muted interval where the daylight is still hesitant. I can hear someone sweeping outside, a really steady, rhythmic sound. It creates a sense of lethargy as I sit in a semi-conscious state, contemplating a monk I never met in person. Merely fragmented memories. General impressions.
People use the word "revered" a lot when they talk about him. It is a descriptor that carries considerable gravity. However, when used in reference to Jatila Sayadaw, it lacks any sense of boisterousness or formality. It sounds more like... a quiet precision. Like people are just a little more deliberate with their words when his name comes up. There is a feeling of great restraint in his legacy. I continue to ponder that specific trait—restraint. Such a characteristic seems quite foreign in the modern world, does it not? The modern world values reaction, haste, and the desire for attention. He seems to have been part of an entirely different temporal flow. A state where time is not viewed as something to be "hacked" or maximized. One simply dwells within 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, 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 is devoid of any sense of theatricality. The movement is not intended for witnesses, even if people are looking on. I may be idealizing this memory, but it is the image of him that persists.
It is notable that few people share stories concerning his individual character traits. One does not find clever tales or sharp aphorisms being shared as tokens of his life. People only speak of his discipline and his continuity. It's as if his persona faded to allow the tradition to speak. I sometimes reflect on that phenomenon. If it feels like freedom to let your "self" disappear like that, or if it feels like a narrowing. 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 reflection seems somewhat disorganized, perhaps even a bit futile. Yet, that might be the very intended effect. Thinking of him brings to light how much mental and verbal noise I usually create. How much I desire to replace the quiet with something considered "useful." He seems to personify the reverse of that tendency. He wasn't silent for quiet's sake; he just didn't seem to require anything more.
I shall conclude my thoughts here. This is not intended to be a biographical account. It is more info just me noting how some names stay with you even without effort. They just linger. Unwavering.