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 was caught saying things like "I basically understand," or "it’s something like that," without ever verifying my own comprehension. It felt harmless at first. Then it didn’t. The room was quiet, the kind of quiet where every thought sounds louder than it should, and suddenly that habit of imprecision felt heavy.
Precision as a Form of Care
Midnight has passed, leaving the air warm and motionless. My neck is tight, likely due to how I was sitting earlier. 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. It is not about being "correct" to impress others, but about an authentic care for the Dhamma.
I have encountered his writings before; they are lucid—almost to an uncomfortable degree. 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. 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.
The Grounding Nature of Precise Language
Vipassanā talks a lot about direct experience, but explanation still matters. A precise term can stabilize the consciousness, whereas an incorrect one can cause long-term confusion. I have seen this distortion in others and recognized it within my own practice. Slightly off definitions, half-remembered concepts, teachings mashed together because they sounded similar enough. 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.
Earlier today I was trying to describe a Dhamma point to someone and halfway through I realized I was improvising. 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.
Practice Beyond "Vibes"
Precision is not "exciting." It doesn't offer an immediate sense of depth; it feels methodical and slow. It can feel almost administrative, yet there is something deeply stabilizing about it. Bhante Pesala’s approach, at least how I imagine it, respects the listener enough to be precise. He doesn't water down the teachings or exaggerate; he presents the Dhamma clearly and leaves it to you.
My foot is chilled, but my body is warm. In the silence of the here switched-off fan, every small sound is heightened. 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. Otherwise the mind just fills in blanks with whatever feels good.
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This reflection doesn't feel "inspiring" in the usual sense; I feel chastened, a bit embarrassed, but also relieved. It is a relief to know that genuine clarity is attainable and that scholars have meticulously mapped the terrain and didn’t blur the edges just to sound wise. 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 stopping when you don’t actually know.
As the night moves on, the internal noise subsides into a less frantic state, if not total silence. 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.