As I reflect tonight on the example of Bhante Gavesi, and his remarkable refusal to present himself as anything extraordinary. It’s funny, because people usually show up to see someone like him loaded with academic frameworks and specific demands from book study —desiring a structured plan or an elaborate intellectual methodology— but he simply refrains from fulfilling those desires. He’s never seemed interested in being a teacher of theories. On the contrary, practitioners typically leave with a far more understated gift. I would call it a burgeoning faith in their actual, lived experience.
There’s this steadiness to him that’s almost uncomfortable if you’re used to the rush of everything else. I've noticed he doesn't try to impress anyone. He unfailingly redirects focus to the core instructions: perceive the current reality, just as it manifests. In an environment where people crave conversations about meditative "phases" or pursuing mystical experiences for the sake of recognition, his approach feels... disarming. He offers no guarantee of a spectacular or sudden change. 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 don't really talk about sudden breakthroughs. It’s more of a gradual shift. Long days of just noting things.
Noting the phồng, xẹp, and the steps of walking. Not rejecting difficult sensations when they manifest, and not chasing the pleasure when it finally does. 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. This is not a form of advancement that seeks attention, yet it is evident in the quiet poise of those who have practiced.
His practice is deeply anchored in the Mahāsi school, that relentless emphasis on continuity. He consistently points out that realization is not the result of accidental inspiration. It is born from the discipline of the path. Many hours, days, and years spent in meticulous mindfulness. His own life is a testament to this effort. He showed no interest in seeking fame or constructing a vast hierarchy. He merely followed the modest road—intensive retreats and a close adherence to actual practice. I find that kind of commitment a bit daunting, to be honest. It’s not about credentials; it’s just that quiet confidence of someone who isn't confused anymore.
A key point that resonates with me is his warning regarding attachment to "positive" phenomena. For instance, the visions, the ecstatic feelings, or the deep state of calm. He instructs to simply note them and proceed, witnessing their cessation. It’s like he’s trying to keep us from falling into those subtle traps where the Dhamma is more info 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 remain in that space until insight matures. He is not seeking far-off admirers or followers. He is just calling us to investigate the truth personally. Take a seat. Observe. Persevere. The entire process is hushed, requiring no grand theories—only the quality of persistence.