Does long hair actually help with spiritual abilities?

US military studies conducted on Native American scouts revealed that cutting their hair strips them of extrasensory abilities, leaving them vulnerable to ambush. Those who maintain long hair retain their intuition, using a sort of "sixth sense" to detect approaching enemies before they strike.

Does hair length dictate spirituality? Baldness often correlates with weak spiritual depth. Take Johannes Kepler, Stravinsky, or Lyndon B. Johnson, for instance. They possessed sharp intellects, certainly, but lacked intuitive strength. Great spiritual icons are rarely depicted as bald. Look at Jesus.

http://vataworld.wordpress.com/2013/...ervous-system/

It's because hair acts as an extension of the nervous system, feeding constant data back to the brain. Some women claim their nipples serve a similar sensory purpose, noting that bras actually hinder their intuitive perception. If anyone has had similar experiences, I'm listening.

Anthony Hayes2 said:US military studies conducted on Native American scouts revealed that cutting their hair strips them of extrasensory abilities, leaving them vulnerable to ambush. Those who maintain long hair retain their intuition, using a sort of "sixth sense" to detect approaching enemies before they strike.

Does hair length dictate spirituality? Baldness often correlates with weak spiritual depth. Take Johannes Kepler, Stravinsky, or Lyndon B. Johnson, for instance. They possessed sharp intellects, certainly, but lacked intuitive strength. Great spiritual icons are rarely depicted as bald. Look at Jesus.

http://vataworld.wordpress.com/2013/...ervous-system/

It's because hair acts as an extension of the nervous system, feeding constant data back to the brain. Some women claim their nipples serve a similar sensory purpose, noting that bras actually hinder their intuitive perception. If anyone has had similar experiences, I'm listening.

All I know is the biblical account:

But that was more about physical strength than spiritual prowess.

And let's be honest—the greatest magician of the modern era couldn't exactly brag about his collection of hair combs. 😲 😁



Thelema is a mystical philosophical teaching established by Aleister Crowley with the publication of The Book of the Law in 1904. In this work, he laid out the foundations of a new doctrine, which he supposedly received from his Holy Angel—Aiwass—who tasked him with being a prophet of Thelema. Those who study and practice this Law are typically referred to as Thelemites.[8]

The Fundamental Law of Thelema is encapsulated in the phrase: Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.[9]

The Thelemic system incorporates various ideas drawn from occultism, yoga, and both Western and Eastern mysticism.

And even that famous spiritualist didn't have much hair to speak of:

Which is probably why he was always seen wearing a hat:
http://api.ning.com/files/dV2ycRsRK-...o_on_guilt.jpg

I’m totally on the same page as Benjamin Taylor6.

Anyway, this whole idea about hair acting like antennas? Super fascinating stuff.

I bet this would really grab the attention of someone like a New Yorker.☕

Benjamin Taylor6 said:All I know is the biblical account:

But that was more about physical strength than spiritual prowess.

And let's be honest—the greatest magician of the modern era couldn't exactly brag about his collection of hair combs. 😲 😁



Thelema is a mystical philosophical teaching established by Aleister Crowley with the publication of The Book of the Law in 1904. In this work, he laid out the foundations of a new doctrine, which he supposedly received from his Holy Angel—Aiwass—who tasked him with being a prophet of Thelema. Those who study and practice this Law are typically referred to as Thelemites.[8]

The Fundamental Law of Thelema is encapsulated in the phrase: Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.[9]

The Thelemic system incorporates various ideas drawn from occultism, yoga, and both Western and Eastern mysticism.

And even that famous spiritualist didn't have much hair to speak of:

Which is probably why he was always seen wearing a hat:
http://api.ning.com/files/dV2ycRsRK-...o_on_guilt.jpg

What do you think, you little Satanist?😁

Anthony Hayes2 said:US military studies conducted on Native American scouts revealed that cutting their hair strips them of extrasensory abilities, leaving them vulnerable to ambush. Those who maintain long hair retain their intuition, using a sort of "sixth sense" to detect approaching enemies before they strike.

Does hair length dictate spirituality? Baldness often correlates with weak spiritual depth. Take Johannes Kepler, Stravinsky, or Lyndon B. Johnson, for instance. They possessed sharp intellects, certainly, but lacked intuitive strength. Great spiritual icons are rarely depicted as bald. Look at Jesus.

http://vataworld.wordpress.com/2013/...ervous-system/

It's because hair acts as an extension of the nervous system, feeding constant data back to the brain. Some women claim their nipples serve a similar sensory purpose, noting that bras actually hinder their intuitive perception. If anyone has had similar experiences, I'm listening.

Some women find swimsuits incredibly frustrating because they feel like they’re just blocking their body's natural "radar" while they're hanging out at the beach. That's why they usually opt for those secluded, clothing-optional spots instead.

Anthony Hayes2 said:US military studies conducted on Native American scouts revealed that cutting their hair strips them of extrasensory abilities, leaving them vulnerable to ambush. Those who maintain long hair retain their intuition, using a sort of "sixth sense" to detect approaching enemies before they strike.

Does hair length dictate spirituality? Baldness often correlates with weak spiritual depth. Take Johannes Kepler, Stravinsky, or Lyndon B. Johnson, for instance. They possessed sharp intellects, certainly, but lacked intuitive strength. Great spiritual icons are rarely depicted as bald. Look at Jesus.

http://vataworld.wordpress.com/2013/...ervous-system/

It's because hair acts as an extension of the nervous system, feeding constant data back to the brain. Some women claim their nipples serve a similar sensory purpose, noting that bras actually hinder their intuitive perception. If anyone has had similar experiences, I'm listening.

Long hair should probably be a warning to us all not to put up with holiday cookies like these, so I won't bother opening up any troll threads...😬

From everything I've been hearing lately, it isn't just about hair on your head, but all body hair for that matter, and honestly, we are in a massive bind because full-body grooming has become such an absolute obsession, which actually makes it no surprise at all that our spirituality has hit such a pathetic low 😁

anyway, they say that baldness is actually a reflection of a fundamental distrust in life, suggesting a certain level of fear, tension, and this desperate need to keep everything under tight control, which are definitely traits of people whose spiritual nature is buried deep within their unconscious 😛
...yet I still know plenty of people with full heads of hair who act exactly the same way... so I really don't know what you make of it 🙄...but the fact remains that when the Bible mentions Samsonov’s long mane and the power he was hiding, it certainly wasn't mentioned just for the sake of it...🤷

Witches are typically depicted with long hair. Usually messy, ash-gray or red, much like the image below:



It makes me wonder if hair pigment serves some kind of additional sensory function. A significant number of redheaded women cut their hair short, likely out of necessity. Perhaps the sensory input from long hair causes the brain to overheat—like a car engine running without coolant, just burning through fuel faster. I once read comments regarding Natalie Portman and Lucas, implying he isn't even the one responsible for how well they get along; apparently, she possesses those "sensors" that trigger an instinctual reaction just by looking at her. People were probably just jealous. Then there is Einstein; with that "wool" on his head, he was likely more spiritually sensitive than other physicists. We usually see eccentric scientists with that specific "tuft," as well as mad musicians or conductors... take Hector Berlioz, for instance. Or Beethoven. Even today, most musicians sport long hair. In the hippie movement or heavy metal, hair is everything, though for the latter, it tends to be greasy and matted. To me, that in heavy metal signals a certain spiritual corruption, similar to when a Jedi starts using the Force for evil and becomes Darth Vader. I would certainly agree with rustymaker5 that there is something sinister about all that hair.

Anthony Hayes2 said:US military studies conducted on Native American scouts revealed that cutting their hair strips them of extrasensory abilities, leaving them vulnerable to ambush. Those who maintain long hair retain their intuition, using a sort of "sixth sense" to detect approaching enemies before they strike.

Does hair length dictate spirituality? Baldness often correlates with weak spiritual depth. Take Johannes Kepler, Stravinsky, or Lyndon B. Johnson, for instance. They possessed sharp intellects, certainly, but lacked intuitive strength. Great spiritual icons are rarely depicted as bald. Look at Jesus.

http://vataworld.wordpress.com/2013/...ervous-system/

It's because hair acts as an extension of the nervous system, feeding constant data back to the brain. Some women claim their nipples serve a similar sensory purpose, noting that bras actually hinder their intuitive perception. If anyone has had similar experiences, I'm listening.

A few famous ones:

http://soonyata.home.xs4all.nl/Maha%...20Maharshi.jpg
(a shaved Raman Maharishi)

http://chicagovedanta.org/images/sv/wandering_monk.jpg
(Vivekananda in his younger ascetic days)

http://yogizendude.com/wp-content/up...1/shankara.jpg
(Sivananda with his students)

http://yogizendude.com/wp-content/up...1/shankara.jpg
(Adi Shankara, the formal founder of Advaita Vedanta)

Most aren't even Buddhist anymore.

And so on.

Both baldness and long hair serve symbolic purposes. Hair is often a major factor in signaling identity, much like other adornments, clothing, or accessories. From primitive tribes to modern society, these external markers either signal a fixed status in more rigid structures or project specific messages about one's choices and interests.

In traditional societies where rules are much stricter—think back to how long hair was viewed when rock musicians first showed up in the States, which isn't even close to the rigid caste systems and hierarchies found elsewhere—hair styling is a key indicator. Consequently, being completely shaved or letting hair grow wild is often a way for various ascetics and hermits to reject social norms and structures (though, in practice, it just becomes another symbol of their social standing).

I won't get into esoteric explanations. There might be some deeper meaning there, or maybe not, but people perceived as authorities, enlightened beings, or advanced practitioners in various spiritual groups come in all sorts of hairstyles.🤣

Hair is actually an immunological organ,
which makes sense—it's a derivative of skin, and skin is packed with immune cells
(that's why full-body allergy testing is done on mice 😉 ).

Immune status and spirituality are linked through melatonin—a potent immunomodulator produced by the pineal gland, or the Ajna chakra.

The primary cause of male pattern baldness is excess testosterone,
and it was recently shown that testosterone can actually suppress immunity:

It would be interesting to find a study on the relationship between melatonin and testosterone in men.
Indirectly speaking, women have higher melatonin levels and lower testosterone... and perhaps that extra melatonin is why women tend to have better intuition.

The shaved heads seen in Hare Krishna or Buddhist traditions are just markers of belonging. It’s similar to how certain American clergy use tonsure to signal their commitment to an order. It denotes obedience. Loyalty. Whether the historical Buddha was actually bald or just depicted that way remains a mystery. Take Krishnamurti, for instance:

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedi...namurti_01.jpg

He sports a long, elegant braid, looking almost like a Native American in his later years. 😍

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bEgyFT6iFz...ishnamurti.jpg

In some American traditions, long hair isn't enough; you need the beard too. Without it, Rasputin wouldn't even be recognizable. Same goes for Arabs and Jews. And then there's this:

http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2011/...98_636x476.jpg

If we set aside Buddhists and Hare Krishnas, most historical figures were either bald or bearded. On the flip side, look at neoliberal fascists like Olli Rehn and other spiritually hollow types—they're all clean-shaven, short-haired, or balding. Hardly any Western political leaders carry long hair. People call it convention or practicality, but what kind of "freedom" is it when you aren't even allowed to choose your own hair for a high-ranking position? I remember when Canjuga became the coach of the LA Galaxy; Franjo Harmon forced him to shave. He used to have a longer braid.

Though, the Dalai Lama is bald and shaves his head.

The melatonin theory makes sense. Vitamin D can negate melatonin effects (which explains the insomnia if you take Vitamin D at night), and redheads produce significantly less Vitamin D. However, they tend to have much higher melatonin levels—making them, logically and intuitively, more spiritual than the rest. Witches. The issue is that melatonin is likely carcinogenic, while Vitamin D suppresses skin cancer, explaining why redheads face higher risks of melanoma and sleep issues. It fits the classic image of a witch casting spells in the dark. A typical witch would probably be posting on a forum in the early hours of the morning, though the insights wouldn't be particularly enlightened. Vampirism myths likely share this origin: insomniacs who consume sugar at night and have pale skin were probably associated with the walking dead, suspected of sucking the life out of people and livestock. Redheads also suffer from iron deficiencies and anemia; ancient peasants might have assumed they were drained by something, much like leeches draining cattle. They concluded these anemic, nocturnal people were wandering around draining the living.

http://www.bulletproofexec.com/bulle...ith-vitamin-d/

In California, they talk about things like strigoi, which are just variations of the vampire myth. You might wonder about the link between hair and vampires. Well, hair and nails continue to grow after death; when bodies are opened weeks after burial, they appear overgrown. This fueled the imagination, leading people to believe the deceased were still alive and walking around. That's why vampires are often envisioned as hairy with long nails—just another connection between long hair and paranormal abilities in folk consciousness.

None of the people I’ve tagged here are actually Christian or Buddhist.😁

I spent some time messing around with my hair length, and honestly—for what it's worth—I think there’s a weird link between how long your hair is and how sensitive you feel to everything going on around you.
That said, I don't think it's a big deal, and it definitely doesn't have anything to do with being "spiritual" or whatever.

Back in the day, I used to hang out with some Sri Chinmoy followers, and they’d pass me his books to read.
One of them actually claimed—literally stated—that long hair is bad for your spiritual growth.
Maybe it's just because he went bald early on, so he forced all his students to keep it short. 😂
The funniest part? He kept insisting he was one of Aurobindo's closest disciples (check my avatar). 😍

The Dalai Lama is probably the most famous commodity on the global market.

Nah.

casualmoose82 said:Nah.

+1

EDIT:
Look, let me be straight with you: I actually think hair could act like some kind of resonator, something that lets us "feel" certain wave patterns we normally wouldn't catch.

But I don't buy that the answers we’re hunting for are hidden in waves. So, I don't see any point in treating hair as a tool to get inside the head of whoever is thinking the thought.

If hair *is* some kind of tool, I see it more as a way to sense the waves vibrating through space—maybe some kind of force we can't pick up with our other senses. To me, space is just a byproduct of time.

Basically: consciousness is the root cause of time and all these natural forces.
Time makes space possible, and when you mix time and space, you get waves. Low-frequency waves give rise to matter, while high-frequency ones create energy.
Natural forces then allow those waves to coalesce into actual matter and energy (think electromagnetism, weak/strong nuclear forces, gravity), which eventually leads to life itself.

So, since hair is pretty low on the totem pole in this whole chain of cause and effect, I don't think it plays much of a role in driving the very connections that make everything work. At most, it might help us detect tiny slivers of the wave spectrum that we barely understand yet.

As for a tool to actually meet the thinker? I think I can do that by simply stepping back from this whole mess of waves and forces. I isolate the thought and look at it as an object, then I observe the observation of that thought as its own object, and so on, layer after layer after layer... the more I exist within time, the less I exist within God.

Regarding these spiritual bald types. Short hair might not mean more spirituality, but total baldness could serve a purpose. Long hair acts like an insulator, dampening the connection to spiritual spheres. Shaving it reduces interference, but being completely bald increases it. It allows static electricity to transfer directly to the scalp—which is far more sensitive than regular skin—detecting even the finest energy fluctuations. Since the skull is spherical and thought radiates like a spherical electromagnetic wave, a bald surface functions as a kind of radar or antenna. Even Tesla noted this.

http://www.tesla-coil-builder.com/Tesla_Propulsion.htm

If you view the head as a sphere and brain folds as coils, it’s clear. Under specific conditions—proper meditation and electromagnetic wave alignment—one can generate a powerful electrostatic potential with a directed vector. Strong enough to cause levitation. This explains the reported levitation of certain yogis or even Zlatko Sudac. It also enables wireless transmission of energy and thoughts. Purely mental communication.

In this context, hair acts as a capacitor. Short hair is usually too unruly, preventing the alignment of the electrostatic vector. Long hair lies flatter against the head, allowing the benefits of the skull's spherical shape to remain somewhat accessible.

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.
😉

Quentin Tarantino.

frozengull2 said: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.
😉

Tantric sex is inherently unnatural. Normal, animalistic sex is instinctual; a man’s impulse is to release, seeking the softest point of contact where he can drive home—right where the female's anatomy resides. You don't aim for the shoulder blades or the head. Oral sex is already a deviation, a perversion. It aims for one-sided satisfaction and a power trip for the one controlling that pleasure with their tongue. Tantra is even worse. There is either no physical contact at all, or they drag it out under the guise of "soul merging." In modern terms, it’s just edging—staying on the brink to make the eventual climax hit harder. It’s like a junkie slamming a needle to get a bigger rush than snorting powder; eventually, nothing is enough. Practicing tantra through asceticism is just denying basic needs to channel sexual energy into the brain. They overstuff themselves with endorphins and serotonin until their eyes glaze over and their hair stands up from the supposed electromagnetic hormonal surge caused by testosterone hitting the follicles. I’m not in favor of constant animalistic release; it dulls the mind. But spiritually, you descend to the level of livestock—always scavenging, eating greasy burgers and drinking beer like a common slob. You lose the ability to perceive finer pleasures. Yet, if you become an ascetic, you can't grow spiritually because you're constantly burdened by the physiological demands of sex and hunger.

Let’s see if we can find a different story where hair actually carries some value.

The insurgents held Aspen, giving them a clear view over the entire Central Valley. Major Domagoj Tvrdić and his unit under Kuguar had tried to take that ridge several times, failing every single time. They just counted their dead and wounded, cursing the enemy who grew more lethal with every failed charge. It felt like there was some supernatural force aiding the opposition; they always knew when an attack was coming and met them in ambush. The best and bravest young men were being killed or maimed—permanent burdens on their families and society. There was no way out. The only difference between the insurgents and these fighters was the long hair and beards of the former, which likely housed field mice alongside any other pests. Domagoj’s men, however, kept their faces clean-shaven, as true warriors should. Domagoj decided on a tactical ruse. He would send a small group out into the open to bait the enemy out of their bunkers, while the main force flanked them from the side to catch them off guard. But the plan had one flaw: the insurgents showed zero interest in leaving their fortifications. A more elaborate deception was required. There was a young man in the unit, gentle and slight, a redhead who almost seemed delicate. He even had long, well-kept hair. His name was Adriano—his mother had some Italian roots, and being from the coast, his parents clearly had a fondness for the Pacific. They conceived a hellish plan. In a few days, during the full moon, they would disguise Adriano as a woman and send him out in a dress to lure the insurgents away from their cover. Once they emerged, the rest of the men would open fire from the nearby brush. Adriano agreed to play the part of the forest siren.

The midnight full moon cast an eerie cobalt glow over everything. It felt like the forest might just be sucked into that pale, glowing steel eye staring down from the anvil of the night sky. Animals hunkered down in their dens; the only sounds were the hoot of an owl and the grunt of some wild boar dreaming of giant acorns. Adriano emerged from the tree line toward the creek, his path illuminated by that ghostly lunar light. He was wearing a breezy, white knee-length dress, his red hair catching the summer breeze with flashes of white, looking almost like a living red-and-white checkered pattern. Suddenly, a squad of seven insurgents appeared from the shadows—men with scruffy beards, bandoliers, and wool caps. They grinned with rotting teeth. From the center, Domagoj stepped forward, his swollen cherry-red lips making him look like some kind of zombie or a vampirized version of a local legend in the dark. He let out a muffled, joyful shout, "There she is... this is going to be fun." The leader of the group, a stern man named Milojica, pulled out a massive double-barreled shotgun and waved it at Adriano, signaling his unruly mob to move in. Two stout, heavy-set men with bulging eyes and sagging chins lunged forward; one was a short, wide fellow with a beard trailing behind him like a character from a fairy tale, and the fourth was a gaunt, wheezing man with enormous ears poking out from a tight cap. Three others, shorter men in caps armed with rifles and light machine guns, watched the scene unfold with grim satisfaction. Domagoj was mentally rubbing his hands together. Nobody would ever guess the commanding officer was the one tipping off the insurgents about the ambush. It was clever; he’d told his men to show up a little later, just after the deed was done. Besides being devious, Domagoj was gay, and Adriano had been a long-time obsession of his. He imagined her performing acts for him, reaching for him... then he heard Veselin, one of the thugs, yell, "Hey boss, that ain't a man!" Domagoj’s eyes widened. He saw it clearly now—Adriano had beautiful white breasts, and his fantasies of a big red tool in the woods were dead in the water. Because Adriano was simply who she was—Adriano, from head to toe.

- "Are you kidding me? You work for Kuguar?! How can you walk among serious fighters like this? Answer me right now or we'll show you what happens when the cat purrs too loud!"
- "My uncle died at the hands of your people just a few months ago! His identity was stolen and reported here, where nobody even bothered to check if he was still alive. We don't fight like regular soldiers in the middle of nowhere; we keep things quiet," Adriano retorted. In a flash, she pulled a massive stick of plastic explosive from her bag—enough to level a demon or a Boeing 767. In the damp air, it had stayed dormant, but as soon as it hit the dry air, it hissed and sparked with a metallic sheen. "I knew you were a traitor, Domagoj. My uncle was the last one in your unit before you sent him into that ambush back when you were just a junior officer. You've certainly climbed the ranks since then. You might even make General if you keep this up, though I doubt you'll survive this..." With that, she hurled the lit stick at him and the stunned group. The explosive flared brighter than the full moon or a midday summer sun, obliterating distorted, terrified faces and twisted limbs. Scruffy beards went up like dry brush in a summer island fire, scattering Domagoj’s bald skull and his cap—decorated with a national crest—into bits of bone, brain, and shredded tissue...

If she hadn't had that hair, she probably wouldn't have been able to get revenge or even realize who the traitor was. That's why hair matters when fighting a corrupt enemy. Don't believe me? You can say I made it all up, but that's just how it happened.

🤣
I mean, forget about the hair... I really think it was that damp, salty environment that did it, kind of like how a wick reacts when it's soaked in the same stuff! 😂