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’m thinking about Bhante Pesala tonight because I caught myself being vague. Again. 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. It felt harmless at first. Then it didn’t. In the deep silence of the room, where every thought is amplified, that tendency toward being "vague" suddenly felt incredibly heavy.
The Loop of Intention and Drift
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. That’s how most things go. Intention, drift, noticing, repeat. In the midst of that repetition, I think of Bhante Pesala and his dedication to being exact. It is not about being "correct" to impress others, but about an authentic care for the Dhamma.
His explanations are famously clear, possessing a clarity that can be quite challenging. His style prevents you from using vague "vibes" or flowery language as a shield for lack of understanding. It is binary: comprehension or confusion, with no room for mystical obscuration. In all honesty, I find that kind of directness somewhat intimidating on occasion. Because it exposes how often I lean on fuzziness to feel safe.
Respecting the Listener through Clarity
Insight meditation emphasizes personal experience, yet how we explain that experience is still crucial. A precise term can stabilize the consciousness, whereas an incorrect one can cause long-term confusion. I’ve seen that happen. I’ve done it myself. Using imprecise definitions, fragmented concepts, or merging disparate teachings just because they seemed alike. Bhante Pesala represents the antithesis of that "close enough" approach. Like someone who would stop and say, "No, that’s not quite it," and then calmly explain why.
During a conversation earlier, I attempted to explain a point of Dhamma only to realize I was making it up as I went. I wasn't intentionally being deceptive, but I was "smoothing out" a concept I didn't fully grasp. This bothered me quite deeply, and as I sit here now, I can't here stop replaying that moment. 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 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. My mind returns repeatedly to the subject of language—how quickly words can lose their anchor and meaning can be lost. 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. There’s relief in knowing that clarity is possible, that someone took the time to map things carefully and didn’t blur the edges just to sound wise. Bhante Pesala represents that solid, non-theatrical presence. His comfort isn't "soft," it's substantial.
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 stopping when you don’t actually 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.