As I reflect tonight on the example of Bhante Gavesi, and his remarkable refusal to present himself as anything extraordinary. It is interesting to observe that seekers typically come to him armed with numerous theories and rigid expectations from their reading —looking for an intricate chart or a profound theological system— but he simply refrains from fulfilling those desires. The role of a theoretical lecturer seems to hold no appeal for him. On the contrary, practitioners typically leave with a far more understated gift. It is a sense of confidence in their personal, immediate perception.
There is a level of steadiness in his presence that borders on being confrontational if your mind is tuned to the perpetual hurry of the era. I have observed that he makes no effort to gain anyone's admiration. He unfailingly redirects focus to the core instructions: know what is happening, as it is happening. In a world where everyone wants to talk about "stages" of meditation or pursuing mystical experiences for the sake of recognition, his approach feels... disarming. It’s not a promise of a dramatic transformation. He simply suggests that lucidity is the result through sincere and sustained attention over a long duration.
I contemplate the journey of those who have trained under him for a decade. They seldom mention experiencing instant enlightenments. It is more of a rhythmic, step-by-step evolution. Prolonged durations spent in the simple act of noting.
Awareness of the abdominal movement and the physical process of walking. Not rejecting difficult sensations when they manifest, and refusing to cling to pleasurable experiences when they emerge. It is a process of deep and silent endurance. Ultimately, the mind abandons its pursuit of special states and anchors itself in the raw nature of existence—impermanence. This bhante gavesi 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, which stresses the absolute necessity of unbroken awareness. He persistently teaches that paññā is not a product of spontaneous flashes. It is the fruit of dedicated labor. Hours, days, years of just being precise with awareness. He has personally embodied this journey. He abstained from pursuing status or creating a large-scale institution. He just chose the simple path—long retreats, staying close to the reality of the practice itself. In all honesty, such a commitment feels quite demanding to me. It is not a matter of titles, but the serene assurance of an individual who has found clarity.
I am particularly struck by his advice to avoid clinging to "pleasant" meditative states. You know, the visions, the rapture, the deep calm. He says to just know them and move on. See them pass. It appears he is attempting to protect us from those delicate obstacles where we treat the path as if it were just another worldly success.
This is quite a demanding proposition, wouldn't you say? To ask myself if I am truly prepared to return to the fundamentals and persevere there until wisdom is allowed to blossom. He is not seeking far-off admirers or followers. He’s just inviting us to test it out. Sit down. Look. Keep going. The entire process is hushed, requiring no grand theories—only the quality of persistence.