As I reflect tonight on the example of Bhante Gavesi, and his total lack of interest in appearing exceptional. It is ironic that meditators often approach a teacher of his stature carrying various concepts and preconceived notions derived from literature —desiring a structured plan or an elaborate intellectual methodology— but he just doesn't give it to them. He has never shown any inclination toward being a teacher of abstract concepts. On the contrary, practitioners typically leave with a far more understated gift. I would call it a burgeoning faith in their actual, lived experience.
His sense of unshakeable poise is almost challenging to witness for those accustomed to the frantic pace of modern life. I have observed that he makes no effort to gain anyone's admiration. He just keeps coming back to the most basic instructions: be aware of the present moment, exactly as it unfolds. In a society obsessed with discussing the different "levels" of practice or seeking extraordinary states to share with others, his perspective is quite... liberating in its directness. He does not market his path as a promise of theatrical evolution. It is just the idea that clarity can be achieved by means of truthful and persistent observation over many years.
I contemplate the journey of those who have trained under him for a decade. They seldom mention experiencing instant enlightenments. It’s more of a gradual shift. Prolonged durations spent in the simple act of noting.
Rising, falling. Walking. Not rejecting difficult sensations when they manifest, and not chasing the pleasure when it finally does. This path demands immense resilience and get more info patience. Eventually, I suppose, the mind just stops looking for something "extra" and settles into the way things actually are—the impermanence of it all. Such growth does not announce itself with fanfare, but it manifests in the serene conduct of the practitioners.
He’s so rooted in that Mahāsi tradition, with its unwavering focus on the persistence of sati. He persistently teaches that paññā is not a product of spontaneous flashes. It comes from the work. Many hours, days, and years spent in meticulous mindfulness. He has personally embodied this journey. He abstained from pursuing status or creating a large-scale institution. He merely followed the modest road—intensive retreats and a close adherence to actual practice. Frankly, that degree of resolve is a bit overwhelming to consider. It is not a matter of titles, but the serene assurance of an individual who has found clarity.
A key point that resonates with me is his warning regarding attachment to "positive" phenomena. Specifically, the visual phenomena, the intense joy, or the deep samādhi. He tells us to merely recognize them and move forward, observing their passing. It seems he wants to stop us from falling into the subtle pitfalls where the Dhamma is mistaken for a form of personal accomplishment.
It’s a bit of a challenge, isn’t it? To wonder if I’m actually willing to go back to the basics and just stay there long enough for anything to grow. He is not seeking far-off admirers or followers. He’s just inviting us to test it out. Sit down. Look. Keep going. It is a silent path, where elaborate explanations are unnecessary compared to steady effort.