As I reflect tonight on the example of Bhante Gavesi, and how he avoids any attempt to seem unique or prominent. It’s funny, because people usually show up to see someone like him with all these theories and expectations they’ve gathered from books —wanting a map, or some grand philosophical system to follow— yet he consistently declines to provide such things. He has never shown any inclination toward being a teacher of abstract concepts. Instead, those who meet him often carry away a more silent understanding. Perhaps it is a newfound trust in their own first-hand observation.
His sense of unshakeable poise is almost challenging to witness if one is habituated to the constant acceleration of the world. It is clear that he has no desire to manufacture an impressive image. He unfailingly redirects focus to the core instructions: know what is happening, as it is happening. In a society obsessed with discussing the different "levels" of practice or some kind of peak experience to post about, his approach feels... disarming. He does not market his path as a promise of theatrical evolution. He simply suggests that lucidity is the result through the act of genuine and prolonged mindfulness.
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. Long days of just noting things.
Noting the phồng, xẹp, and the steps of walking. Not avoiding the pain when it shows up, and not grasping at agreeable feelings when they are present. It is a process of deep and silent endurance. Gradually, the internal dialogue stops seeking extraordinary outcomes and anchors itself in the raw nature of existence—impermanence. It’s not the kind of progress that makes a lot of noise, but it manifests in the serene conduct of the practitioners.
He is firmly established within the Mahāsi lineage, with its unwavering focus on the persistence of sati. He persistently teaches that paññā is not a product of spontaneous flashes. It results from the actual effort of practice. Dedicating vast amounts of time to technical and accurate sati. His own life is a testament to this effort. He didn't go out looking for recognition or trying to build some massive institution. He opted for the unadorned way—extended periods of silence and a focus on the work itself. To be truthful, I find that level of dedication somewhat intimidating. It’s not about credentials; it’s just that quiet confidence of someone who isn't confused anymore.
Something I keep in mind is his caution against identifying with "good" internal experiences. Specifically, the visual phenomena, the intense joy, or the deep samādhi. His advice is to acknowledge them and continue, seeing their impermanent nature. It appears he is attempting to protect us from those delicate obstacles where the Dhamma is mistaken for a form of personal accomplishment.
It’s a bit of a challenge, isn’t it? To ask myself if I am truly prepared to return to the fundamentals and abide in that simplicity until anything of value develops. He is not interested in being worshipped from afar. He is just calling us to investigate the truth personally. click here Sit down. Look. Keep going. The way is quiet, forgoing grand rhetoric in favor of simple, honest persistence.