Does long hair actually help with spiritual abilities?
in Spirituality ·
I honestly don’t know if it’s even worth the mental breakdown you get over hair.
Like, one minute you’re all, “Oh my god... I look so damn good...” then suddenly, “Wait, wait... did it actually grow enough? Is this thing even working?”
“I’ve got hair down to my butt, I’m basically vibrating on six different dimensions right now.”
“But man, I look like a total antenna.”
Let me tell you a story;
My dad spent a few years living in India.
He spent over a year tucked away in this ashram—basically a training center—in Varanasi, plus some tiny little village deep in Bihar (he was constantly bouncing between Varanasi and the locals... just to be specific).
One day he’d be in Varanasi, the next he’d be in that village (which was like a 15 or 16-hour trek from Varanasi; part train, part hanging off the roof of a local bus, and finally, about 13km of hiking through the middle of nowhere... just to reach this remote meditation spot/village). It was basically three or four mud huts where they’d smear cow dung on the dirt floors every single day just to keep things steady, tucked into some forest by a river where tigers actually lived—no joke.
For real.
In that training center (split between those two spots), people were training to become Tantric Sadhus.
You know the vibe; all that chanting, ritual stuff, and whatnot...
A little bit of this, a little bit of that, just so nobody gets bored.
The craziest part? They didn't take Westerners. So my old man was basically one of the last Mohicans there, along with maybe three other hardcore Western freaks/seekers who dropped everything to go "searching" and somehow stumbled upon this place while wandering through India.
Besides them, there weren't any other Westerners.
Mainly because nobody really spoke English there.
To even function, you had to at least understand Bengali or Hindi... whatever.
It was mostly a younger crowd staying there, people in their early 20s who were dead serious about checking out of the secular world.
Anyone older could stay for a short stint, but you couldn't live there long-term.
As they say; “strike while the iron is hot,” or something like that.
The whole center was run by this old Tantric Acharya—a pretty intense guy, probably around 70—and living there was anything but easy.
Partly because of how little there was (the poverty they had to endure was intense, even by Indian standards), and partly because of the iron-fisted discipline required by the head of the ashram, who’d fix any disobedience by cracking a stick across your back.
If you couldn't hack it, you were out.
Food was scarce—mostly whatever you could scavenge and cook up in a clay pot over a fire you started yourself. You basically had one pair of loose pants, one rag you’d wash every day with a scrap of soap at a tap, and one small orange cloth to wrap yourself in during the evenings.
That was it.
On top of all that, there was endless meditation, singing Kirtan, sleeping on the bare dirt or a basic mat... all for the sole purpose of mastering certain Tantric techniques and lessons.
And there was tons of learning... memorizing various Sutras by heart, which the boss—with his lightning-fast staff and sharp eyes—would interpret... I won't even list them all.
So, anyway;
Everyone in this Tantric training "center" had to let their hair and beard grow wild.
No restrictions at all.
Because of that, every single one of them looked like some terrifying Tantric warrior from the Stone Age.
Just totally keyed up on the Tantric vibe, practically naked and barefoot, with long hair and untamed beards, wrapped in nothing but scraps of cloth.
Tradition, I guess. Heh.
The hair and beard had to be washed with soap four times a day, before every meditation, and after that, you'd rub coconut oil into it until the hair and beard were as shiny as a baby's butt.
The darker your hair was, the more it stood out.
My dad told me that, never before or since, had he ever been cleaner or more washed up in his life—even though he was living in the most stripped-down, objectively grimiest conditions he’d ever seen on the face of the Earth... at least from his perspective.
So, anyway...
Man, time just flew by. Between all that heavy Tantra sessions and trying to soak up every bit of those lessons... it was wild. But honestly? It felt like it was happening in slow motion too. All those solid, real people—the ones who were out there every single day putting in the work, scrubbing away, and constantly dousing themselves in coconut oil... their beards just started growing exponentially. Slow and steady, you know? Just constant growth.
Man, the more those weeds grew, the more they just seemed to hunger for space, I swear to God... just proudly squeezing out everything else and letting themselves flutter around wildly in the wind.
Like flags... just drifting there. Honestly, it reminds me of that one summer I spent driving through the Midwest, just seeing nothing but endless cornfields and those faded little roadside flags fluttering in the wind. It’s kind of a vibe, you know? But also kinda pointless if you think about it too long. Just waving around for nobody.
Or even better;
You ever see those guys who start getting all "bodybuilder" on you? It’s like, they walk around acting all "oh, I just threw this on, totally didn't think about it," wearing these insanely thin, tight short-sleeve tees... basically performing this whole act of being completely uninterested in fashion. But don't let the act fool you. They’re doing it on purpose, making sure they stroll right through the busiest part of downtown where everyone can see them. It's such a move.
That fake-ass "oh, I'm just casually strolling by, totally indifferent to what I'm wearing" vibe? It’s absolute garbage. You can smell that forced nonchalance from a mile away. It’s like someone trying way too hard to look like they didn't try at all, which—ironically—is the most obvious tell ever. Honestly, once you encounter that kind of pretentiousness, it just sticks to you. It lingers in the air like bad cologne for days. Just total trash.
It’s honestly exactly like that in the Tantric world too. It starts out so subtle, you don't even notice it happening—just bit by bit, little by little. They come at you with those shimmering eyes and that smooth, melodic voice, and before you know it, you're caught in the whole cosmic trap.
It’s honestly wild how much a person can be objectively, undeniably screwed—like, actually living in total misery, owning nothing but a couple of pairs of raggedy pants—and yet still feel like absolute garbage just because they’re sleeping on a hard floor or sitting still for hours on end. It’s crazy. Plus, if you’ve got hair and a beard looking like that little dwarf from Snow White—you know, the one that actually strikes terror into the hearts of the poor folks begging for scraps every single day? Man, it just messes with your head. Just makes everything feel ten times heavier than it already is.
My old man always tells me, "Look, if you haven't lived through it yourself, there's no way on earth you'd ever truly get it." And honestly? He’s probably right. It's like trying to explain the taste of a greasy cheeseburger from In-N-Out to someone who's only ever eaten boiled kale. You just can't. Some things you have to feel in your gut before they actually click.
So, there they were. One day, right at the peak of their whole hair and beard glory—basically when they were deep in the thick of all that tantra, mantra, and chakra-cleansing nonsense—they finally snapped out of it. They’d just finished hours of meditation and some half-baked lessons, totally zonked out, just sitting there waiting to hear some profound wisdom from the old head of the center. This guy was basically their best bud; they’d hang out with him every single day, just shooting the breeze and messing around like old friends. And then, out of nowhere, they got hit with a total curveball.
The old guy just sat there for a while, man. Totally silent. He was just scanning the room, watching everyone who was down on the floor practicing their lotus position... just taking it all in.
There's about 30 of them.
He was gripping that cane like it was some kind of royal scepter, holding it vertical against the ground—you know, that power move. He kept scanning the room, his eyes darting from one spot to the next, just restless. It looked like he was searching for something specific... or maybe he was just trying to see right through everything.
Just a few minutes...
It was pretty damn obvious from the jump that something was eating at him. You could just tell things weren't gonna go smoothly that day—nothing was gonna follow the usual routine, you know? Everything was just... off.
Finally, someone actually had the guts to ask the real question: "is everything even okay...!?"
Old man just blurted out a hard "No!" like he was firing a shotgun.
Look, I’m serious. By the end of the day, everyone needs to shave their damn beards and chop all that hair off. Honestly? You guys look absolutely moronic with all that junk hanging off your faces. It's embarrassing.
Ugh, just... ugh. Seriously.
WTF...!? Seriously?
What does he even mean by "cut her hair"!? Seriously?
"That’s just not tantric... you know what I mean!?"
"Everyone's in, one by one," the old man repeats.
And just like they were told, that's exactly what they did. No questions asked.
Every single one of you.
Took forever, man. Honestly, they were working with one pair of old, dull-ass scissors that couldn't cut through butter, let alone whatever they were trying to do. Total waste of time.
Since they had to hack their own hair off, everyone ended up looking like a bunch of freshly shorn sheep. Honestly, just a total mess.
I mean, seriously, they weren't even allowed to use a razor—not that they actually had one to use anyway... all they could do was hack away with some shears, just doing whatever little bit of trimming they thought they knew how to do. It was a total mess.
Whatever.
The funniest part was honestly just watching my old man deal with that massive sense of loss back then. It was wild.
He’s basically saying he felt like someone was snatching his favorite toy right out from under him. Just total violation, you know?
Man, I don't even want to get into that soul-crushing sense of shame that just absolutely leveled him. It was like a punch to the gut. He had to actually step out there and beg for food that day—because back then, you only ate whatever you managed to scavenge or ask for. Just total humiliation.
Back in the day, I was king of the street performers—hair flowing wild, beard looking all glossy from that coconut oil I used. I felt like an absolute legend. But now? Man, I feel like a total bum. Just some guy standing there while those self-righteous losers look right through me like I don't even exist. It’s pathetic, honestly.
It’s just this constant, nagging realization that I'm gonna feel totally exposed to the world for days—like, until my hair and beard actually start growing back—and honestly, it just makes the whole awkward vibe even worse.
It’s honestly wild—like, some kind of freak miracle or whatever—but everything else just feels better now. I mean, specifically looking at the actual practice he was doing. It’s like the whole vibe shifted.
So, you seeing this now?! Like, seriously, look at this mess.
My old man just shaved his head today, and honestly? He looks exactly like some guy from *Dancing with the Stars*... you know, one of those guys who takes the whole thing way too seriously. It’s intense. He looks absolutely wild.
Man, that just makes my blood run cold. Seriously.
No matter where we end up, people who don't know him just... they move out of the way. You can see it in their eyes—that weird, uncomfortable vibe like they're trying to dodge a collision with someone they can't quite wrap their heads around. It’s honestly kind of pathetic to watch.
Movies! Man, I could talk about cinema for hours. Honestly, sometimes you just need that perfect flick to shut your brain off after a long day.
Man... honestly? It’s about damn time I go full crazy and just let my hair grow out again.
If he doesn't, he’s gonna walk around thinking he's some kind of tough guy.
It honestly seems like guys with bald heads—just like those damn long-haired types—have this permanent "connection error" in their brains... they just can't seem to sense that incredible, overwhelming sense of Wonder that's supposed to be everywhere, in everything.
From top to bottom.
So much for having hair...
P.S.
Honestly, instead of using hair as some sort of "spiritual antenna," you're better off just using a piece of wire.
Just shove it up your ass and slowly rotate it left and right.
If you get lucky, maybe you'll actually pick up one of the local stations inside your skull on the FM band.
Like, "hey dear listeners, this is NPR... educational programming. We're starting our 'History on Thursdays' show now..." and stuff like that.
😉
Like, one minute you’re all, “Oh my god... I look so damn good...” then suddenly, “Wait, wait... did it actually grow enough? Is this thing even working?”
“I’ve got hair down to my butt, I’m basically vibrating on six different dimensions right now.”
“But man, I look like a total antenna.”
Let me tell you a story;
My dad spent a few years living in India.
He spent over a year tucked away in this ashram—basically a training center—in Varanasi, plus some tiny little village deep in Bihar (he was constantly bouncing between Varanasi and the locals... just to be specific).
One day he’d be in Varanasi, the next he’d be in that village (which was like a 15 or 16-hour trek from Varanasi; part train, part hanging off the roof of a local bus, and finally, about 13km of hiking through the middle of nowhere... just to reach this remote meditation spot/village). It was basically three or four mud huts where they’d smear cow dung on the dirt floors every single day just to keep things steady, tucked into some forest by a river where tigers actually lived—no joke.
For real.
In that training center (split between those two spots), people were training to become Tantric Sadhus.
You know the vibe; all that chanting, ritual stuff, and whatnot...
A little bit of this, a little bit of that, just so nobody gets bored.
The craziest part? They didn't take Westerners. So my old man was basically one of the last Mohicans there, along with maybe three other hardcore Western freaks/seekers who dropped everything to go "searching" and somehow stumbled upon this place while wandering through India.
Besides them, there weren't any other Westerners.
Mainly because nobody really spoke English there.
To even function, you had to at least understand Bengali or Hindi... whatever.
It was mostly a younger crowd staying there, people in their early 20s who were dead serious about checking out of the secular world.
Anyone older could stay for a short stint, but you couldn't live there long-term.
As they say; “strike while the iron is hot,” or something like that.
The whole center was run by this old Tantric Acharya—a pretty intense guy, probably around 70—and living there was anything but easy.
Partly because of how little there was (the poverty they had to endure was intense, even by Indian standards), and partly because of the iron-fisted discipline required by the head of the ashram, who’d fix any disobedience by cracking a stick across your back.
If you couldn't hack it, you were out.
Food was scarce—mostly whatever you could scavenge and cook up in a clay pot over a fire you started yourself. You basically had one pair of loose pants, one rag you’d wash every day with a scrap of soap at a tap, and one small orange cloth to wrap yourself in during the evenings.
That was it.
On top of all that, there was endless meditation, singing Kirtan, sleeping on the bare dirt or a basic mat... all for the sole purpose of mastering certain Tantric techniques and lessons.
And there was tons of learning... memorizing various Sutras by heart, which the boss—with his lightning-fast staff and sharp eyes—would interpret... I won't even list them all.
So, anyway;
Everyone in this Tantric training "center" had to let their hair and beard grow wild.
No restrictions at all.
Because of that, every single one of them looked like some terrifying Tantric warrior from the Stone Age.
Just totally keyed up on the Tantric vibe, practically naked and barefoot, with long hair and untamed beards, wrapped in nothing but scraps of cloth.
Tradition, I guess. Heh.
The hair and beard had to be washed with soap four times a day, before every meditation, and after that, you'd rub coconut oil into it until the hair and beard were as shiny as a baby's butt.
The darker your hair was, the more it stood out.
My dad told me that, never before or since, had he ever been cleaner or more washed up in his life—even though he was living in the most stripped-down, objectively grimiest conditions he’d ever seen on the face of the Earth... at least from his perspective.
So, anyway...
Man, time just flew by. Between all that heavy Tantra sessions and trying to soak up every bit of those lessons... it was wild. But honestly? It felt like it was happening in slow motion too. All those solid, real people—the ones who were out there every single day putting in the work, scrubbing away, and constantly dousing themselves in coconut oil... their beards just started growing exponentially. Slow and steady, you know? Just constant growth.
Man, the more those weeds grew, the more they just seemed to hunger for space, I swear to God... just proudly squeezing out everything else and letting themselves flutter around wildly in the wind.
Like flags... just drifting there. Honestly, it reminds me of that one summer I spent driving through the Midwest, just seeing nothing but endless cornfields and those faded little roadside flags fluttering in the wind. It’s kind of a vibe, you know? But also kinda pointless if you think about it too long. Just waving around for nobody.
Or even better;
You ever see those guys who start getting all "bodybuilder" on you? It’s like, they walk around acting all "oh, I just threw this on, totally didn't think about it," wearing these insanely thin, tight short-sleeve tees... basically performing this whole act of being completely uninterested in fashion. But don't let the act fool you. They’re doing it on purpose, making sure they stroll right through the busiest part of downtown where everyone can see them. It's such a move.
That fake-ass "oh, I'm just casually strolling by, totally indifferent to what I'm wearing" vibe? It’s absolute garbage. You can smell that forced nonchalance from a mile away. It’s like someone trying way too hard to look like they didn't try at all, which—ironically—is the most obvious tell ever. Honestly, once you encounter that kind of pretentiousness, it just sticks to you. It lingers in the air like bad cologne for days. Just total trash.
It’s honestly exactly like that in the Tantric world too. It starts out so subtle, you don't even notice it happening—just bit by bit, little by little. They come at you with those shimmering eyes and that smooth, melodic voice, and before you know it, you're caught in the whole cosmic trap.
It’s honestly wild how much a person can be objectively, undeniably screwed—like, actually living in total misery, owning nothing but a couple of pairs of raggedy pants—and yet still feel like absolute garbage just because they’re sleeping on a hard floor or sitting still for hours on end. It’s crazy. Plus, if you’ve got hair and a beard looking like that little dwarf from Snow White—you know, the one that actually strikes terror into the hearts of the poor folks begging for scraps every single day? Man, it just messes with your head. Just makes everything feel ten times heavier than it already is.
My old man always tells me, "Look, if you haven't lived through it yourself, there's no way on earth you'd ever truly get it." And honestly? He’s probably right. It's like trying to explain the taste of a greasy cheeseburger from In-N-Out to someone who's only ever eaten boiled kale. You just can't. Some things you have to feel in your gut before they actually click.
So, there they were. One day, right at the peak of their whole hair and beard glory—basically when they were deep in the thick of all that tantra, mantra, and chakra-cleansing nonsense—they finally snapped out of it. They’d just finished hours of meditation and some half-baked lessons, totally zonked out, just sitting there waiting to hear some profound wisdom from the old head of the center. This guy was basically their best bud; they’d hang out with him every single day, just shooting the breeze and messing around like old friends. And then, out of nowhere, they got hit with a total curveball.
The old guy just sat there for a while, man. Totally silent. He was just scanning the room, watching everyone who was down on the floor practicing their lotus position... just taking it all in.
There's about 30 of them.
He was gripping that cane like it was some kind of royal scepter, holding it vertical against the ground—you know, that power move. He kept scanning the room, his eyes darting from one spot to the next, just restless. It looked like he was searching for something specific... or maybe he was just trying to see right through everything.
Just a few minutes...
It was pretty damn obvious from the jump that something was eating at him. You could just tell things weren't gonna go smoothly that day—nothing was gonna follow the usual routine, you know? Everything was just... off.
Finally, someone actually had the guts to ask the real question: "is everything even okay...!?"
Old man just blurted out a hard "No!" like he was firing a shotgun.
Look, I’m serious. By the end of the day, everyone needs to shave their damn beards and chop all that hair off. Honestly? You guys look absolutely moronic with all that junk hanging off your faces. It's embarrassing.
Ugh, just... ugh. Seriously.
WTF...!? Seriously?
What does he even mean by "cut her hair"!? Seriously?
"That’s just not tantric... you know what I mean!?"
"Everyone's in, one by one," the old man repeats.
And just like they were told, that's exactly what they did. No questions asked.
Every single one of you.
Took forever, man. Honestly, they were working with one pair of old, dull-ass scissors that couldn't cut through butter, let alone whatever they were trying to do. Total waste of time.
Since they had to hack their own hair off, everyone ended up looking like a bunch of freshly shorn sheep. Honestly, just a total mess.
I mean, seriously, they weren't even allowed to use a razor—not that they actually had one to use anyway... all they could do was hack away with some shears, just doing whatever little bit of trimming they thought they knew how to do. It was a total mess.
Whatever.
The funniest part was honestly just watching my old man deal with that massive sense of loss back then. It was wild.
He’s basically saying he felt like someone was snatching his favorite toy right out from under him. Just total violation, you know?
Man, I don't even want to get into that soul-crushing sense of shame that just absolutely leveled him. It was like a punch to the gut. He had to actually step out there and beg for food that day—because back then, you only ate whatever you managed to scavenge or ask for. Just total humiliation.
Back in the day, I was king of the street performers—hair flowing wild, beard looking all glossy from that coconut oil I used. I felt like an absolute legend. But now? Man, I feel like a total bum. Just some guy standing there while those self-righteous losers look right through me like I don't even exist. It’s pathetic, honestly.
It’s just this constant, nagging realization that I'm gonna feel totally exposed to the world for days—like, until my hair and beard actually start growing back—and honestly, it just makes the whole awkward vibe even worse.
It’s honestly wild—like, some kind of freak miracle or whatever—but everything else just feels better now. I mean, specifically looking at the actual practice he was doing. It’s like the whole vibe shifted.
So, you seeing this now?! Like, seriously, look at this mess.
My old man just shaved his head today, and honestly? He looks exactly like some guy from *Dancing with the Stars*... you know, one of those guys who takes the whole thing way too seriously. It’s intense. He looks absolutely wild.
Man, that just makes my blood run cold. Seriously.
No matter where we end up, people who don't know him just... they move out of the way. You can see it in their eyes—that weird, uncomfortable vibe like they're trying to dodge a collision with someone they can't quite wrap their heads around. It’s honestly kind of pathetic to watch.
Movies! Man, I could talk about cinema for hours. Honestly, sometimes you just need that perfect flick to shut your brain off after a long day.
Man... honestly? It’s about damn time I go full crazy and just let my hair grow out again.
If he doesn't, he’s gonna walk around thinking he's some kind of tough guy.
It honestly seems like guys with bald heads—just like those damn long-haired types—have this permanent "connection error" in their brains... they just can't seem to sense that incredible, overwhelming sense of Wonder that's supposed to be everywhere, in everything.
From top to bottom.
So much for having hair...
P.S.
Honestly, instead of using hair as some sort of "spiritual antenna," you're better off just using a piece of wire.
Just shove it up your ass and slowly rotate it left and right.
If you get lucky, maybe you'll actually pick up one of the local stations inside your skull on the FM band.
Like, "hey dear listeners, this is NPR... educational programming. We're starting our 'History on Thursdays' show now..." and stuff like that.
😉
