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. The reason Bhante Pesala is on my mind this evening is that I once again noticed my own vagueness. 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. In the deep silence of the room, where every thought is amplified, that tendency toward being "vague" suddenly felt incredibly heavy.
Precision as a Form of Care
It’s past midnight. The air’s warm and still. My neck’s a little stiff, probably from hunching over earlier. I notice I’m breathing through my mouth. Switch to the nose. Switch back without realizing it. It is the standard loop of the mind: setting an intent, drifting away, noticing the drift, and starting over. In the midst of that repetition, I think of Bhante Pesala and his dedication to being exact. This isn't a performative sharpness, but a deep, genuine sense of care.
His explanations are famously clear, possessing a clarity that can be quite challenging. He leaves no room for the reader to take refuge in "spiritual" ambiguity or poetic metaphors. One either grasps the point or they don't; there is no fog or artificial mystery involved. And honestly, that kind of clarity makes me uncomfortable sometimes. It reveals just how frequently I rely on vague concepts to maintain a sense of security.
The Right Word as an Anchor
Vipassanā talks a lot about direct experience, but explanation still matters. The right word can steady the mind. The wrong one can quietly distort things for years. I’ve seen that happen. I’ve done it myself. Relying on "close enough" definitions or blending different teachings because they shared a similar tone. Bhante Pesala feels like the opposite of that. He strikes me as someone who would patiently identify a misconception and clarify the exact meaning.
I was explaining the Dhamma to someone today and caught myself improvising halfway through the explanation. It wasn't a lie, exactly, but I was filling in the blanks—polishing an understanding that wasn't actually there. This bothered me quite deeply, and as I sit here now, I can't stop replaying that moment. While my physical form click here 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. Almost bureaucratic if you’re not paying attention. But there’s something grounding about it. Bhante Pesala’s approach, at least how I imagine it, respects the listener enough to be precise. He avoids oversimplifying or marketing the Dhamma; he simply presents the facts and lets the practitioner do the work.
My foot is chilled, but my body is warm. In the silence of the switched-off fan, every small sound is heightened. I find my thoughts circling back to the fragility of language and how easily we lose the true meaning of words. While practice is about direct observation, having a clear conceptual framework is equally important. Without it, the mind is prone to filling in the gaps with whatever is most comforting.
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This reflection doesn't feel "inspiring" in the usual sense; I feel chastened, a bit embarrassed, but also relieved. I find comfort in the fact that precise clarity exists and that teachers have done the work of careful mapping without resorting to ambiguity just to appear more profound. To me, he is a steady, unadorned presence—one that provides a sense of security through its solidity rather than its warmth.
Fatigue and distraction remain, and I'm still doubtful about my ability to be precise in the morning. 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, most importantly, knowing when to remain silent because we do not know.
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. Bhante Pesala fades back into the background, but the impression stays. Be careful with words. They point the mind somewhere, whether you notice or not.