I find myself thinking of Bhante Pesala whenever I realize I've been intellectually lazy, yet worry that seeking total precision might turn into rigidity. I am reflecting on Bhante Pesala tonight because I recognized that same old habit of being non-committal with my thoughts. I caught myself using phrases like "I sort of see it," or "it's roughly like this," while failing to check if I truly grasped the subject. At first, it appeared insignificant; then, the weight of that imprecision became clear. The room was quiet, the kind of quiet where every thought sounds louder than it should, and suddenly that habit of imprecision felt heavy.
The Loop of Intention and Drift
The hour is late—past midnight—and the air is stagnant. I feel a stiffness in my neck from my posture earlier today. I realize I am mouth-breathing; I consciously switch to the nose, only to drift back a moment later. That’s how most things go. Intention, drift, noticing, repeat. Within that cycle, the name of Bhante Pesala arises, linked to the concept of precision. Not sharpness for show, but care. Real care.
I’ve read some of his explanations before. Clear. Almost painfully clear. The kind that doesn’t let you hide behind poetic language or spiritual vibes. It is binary: comprehension or confusion, with no room for mystical obscuration. And honestly, that kind of clarity makes me uncomfortable sometimes. Because it exposes how often I lean on fuzziness to feel safe.
The Distortion of Half-Remembered Concepts
While Vipassanā prioritizes direct realization, the role of clear explanation remains vital. The correct terminology anchors the mind, while a slightly off-center definition can lead one astray for a long time. I have witnessed this, and I have certainly been guilty of it myself. Using imprecise definitions, fragmented concepts, or merging disparate teachings just because they seemed alike. Bhante Pesala feels like the opposite of that. He is the kind of teacher who would pause to correct a minor error and then provide a lucid explanation.
I was explaining the Dhamma to someone today and caught myself improvising halfway through the explanation. Not lying, just… filling gaps. Making it smoother than it actually was in my head. The realization was more unsettling than I anticipated, and now the memory is stuck on a loop. While my physical form is motionless, my mind is active with a steady hum of self-scrutiny.
The Grounding Power of Exactness
Being exact lacks "glamour." It doesn't seem profound initially; it feels slow and meticulous. To the unobservant, it might seem almost clinical, yet it provides a powerful sense of being grounded. I perceive his approach as one that honors the student by refusing to be anything less than precise. He doesn't water down the teachings or exaggerate; he click here presents the Dhamma clearly and leaves it to you.
My foot’s cold. The rest of me’s warm. The fan’s off tonight. I can hear my own swallowing, which is weirdly loud. Thoughts keep looping back to language. How easily words drift. How easily meaning slips. Direct seeing is the goal, but we need an accurate map of the path to get there. In the absence of a clear framework, the ego simply invents its own "truth" based on preference.
________________________________________
The result of this thought is a feeling of being corrected rather than inspired—and yet, there is a sense of relief in it. There’s relief in knowing that clarity is possible, that someone took the time to map things carefully without resorting to ambiguity just to appear more profound. Bhante Pesala feels like that kind of presence. Not flashy. Not comforting in a warm way. Comforting in a solid way.
I’m still tired. Still half-distracted. Still not sure how well I’ll explain anything tomorrow. Yet, sitting here and seeing how words construct our reality, I have a new appreciation for the importance of being exact. Not perfection. Just honesty in meaning. Saying what you mean. Meaning what you say. And having the humility to stop when we reach the limits of our knowledge.
The night progresses, and my thoughts have finally begun to decelerate—becoming less chaotic, though not silent. My physical form finally relaxes into the sit, accepting the stillness at last. While the thought of Bhante Pesala fades, the lesson he represents lingers. Be careful with words. They point the mind somewhere, whether you notice or not.