As I reflect tonight on the example of Bhante Gavesi, and his total lack of interest in appearing exceptional. It’s funny, because people usually show up to see someone like him carrying various concepts and preconceived notions derived from literature —searching for a definitive roadmap or a complex philosophical framework— but he simply refrains from fulfilling those desires. 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. Perhaps it is a newfound trust in their own first-hand observation.
His sense of unshakeable poise is almost challenging to witness if you’re used to the rush of everything else. It is clear that he has no desire to manufacture an impressive image. He unfailingly redirects focus to the core instructions: perceive the current reality, just as it manifests. In a society obsessed with discussing the different "levels" of practice or pursuing mystical experiences for the sake of recognition, his way of teaching proves to be... startlingly simple. He offers no guarantee of a spectacular or sudden change. It is just the idea that clarity can be achieved by means of truthful and persistent observation over many years.
I reflect on those practitioners who have followed his guidance for a long time. They don't really talk about sudden breakthroughs. It is characterized by a slow and steady transformation. Prolonged durations spent in the simple act of noting.
Rising, falling. Walking. Not avoiding the pain when it shows up, and refusing to cling to pleasurable experiences when they emerge. It is a process of deep and silent endurance. In time, I believe, the consciousness ceases its search for something additional and rests in the fundamental reality of anicca. It’s not the kind of progress that makes a lot of noise, yet it is evident in the quiet poise of those who have practiced.
He is firmly established within the Mahāsi lineage, 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. Hours, days, years of just being precise with awareness. His own life is a testament to this effort. He never sought public honor or attempted to establish a large organization. He simply chose the path of retreat and total commitment to experiential truth. To be truthful, I find that level of dedication somewhat intimidating. It is about the understated confidence of a mind that is no longer lost.
One thing that sticks with me is how he warns here people about getting attached to the "good" experiences. For instance, the visions, the ecstatic feelings, or the deep state of calm. He tells us to merely recognize them and move forward, observing their passing. He is clearly working to prevent us from becoming ensnared in those fine traps where the Dhamma is mistaken for a form of personal accomplishment.
This is quite a demanding proposition, wouldn't you say? To ponder whether I am genuinely willing to revisit the basic instructions and just stay there long enough for anything to grow. He is not interested in being worshipped from afar. He simply invites us to put the technique to the test. Take a seat. Observe. Persevere. It’s all very quiet. No big explanations needed, really. Just the persistence of it.