Jatila Sayadaw, and the Way Some Names Stay Quietly With You

I have been searching for the moment the exact instance I first encountered the title of Jatila Sayadaw, but my memory is being stubborn. There was no grand occasion or a formal announcement. 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 has just become a fixture. His name was just there, familiar in a way I never really questioned.

I am positioned here in the early morning— not exactly at the break of dawn, but during that hazy, transitional period when the light hasn't quite made up its mind yet. I can hear someone sweeping outside, a really steady, rhythmic sound. It highlights my own lack of motion as I sit here, partially awake, pondering a member of the Sangha I never personally encountered, at least not formally. Just disconnected shards of information. Vague impressions.

In discussions of his life, the word "revered" is used quite often. 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 conveys a sense of... meticulous attention. Like people are a bit more measured in their speech when he is the topic. One perceives a distinct sense of moderation in that space. I keep thinking about that—restraint. It seems quite unusual in this day and age. The modern world values reaction, haste, and the desire for attention. He feels as jatila sayadaw 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. While that idea is appealing on paper, I imagine it is much more difficult to realize in practice.

I have this image of him in my head, although it may be an assembly of old narratives and various impressions. He is pacing slowly on a monastery path, gaze lowered, his stride perfectly steady. There is no hint of a performance in his gait. He is not acting for the benefit of observers, regardless of who might be present. 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's as if his persona faded to allow the tradition to speak. I think about that on occasion. 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 changing now and becoming brighter. I’ve been looking over what I’ve written and I almost deleted it. The reflection seems somewhat disorganized, perhaps even a bit futile. But maybe that futility is the whole point. Thinking about him makes me realize how much noise I usually make. How much I desire to replace the quiet with something considered "useful." He appears to represent the contrary impulse. He wasn't silent just for the sake of quiet; he simply didn't seem to need anything superfluous.

I’m just going to leave it at that. This is not intended to be a biographical account. It is just me noting how some names stay with you even without effort. They just stay there, steady.