The Law of Purity.

Man has always wanted to adorn himself.

He grew his hair, wore clothes, wore jewelry, as if the light that lives within him could only shine through the outer layer.

Yet purity is not what we add—but what we leave behind.

The monk shaves his head because he knows that hair is a sign of time, an echo of passing away.

Every strand is a thought, every growth a new desire.

And when he cuts it off, he does not lose his hair, but his attachments.

Thus the head becomes smooth again—like the surface of silence before the sound resounds within it.

The body is not the prison, but the filter.

Hair, nails, skin—all are materials of the earth, reminding us that form passes, but the light that vibrates within is eternal.

A hairless head, bare skin is not a denial of vanity, but a return of the ego to the Source.

Where there is no excess, the light flows better.

Where the body is quiet, the soul is heard.

The bald monk does not want to be more beautiful — he only wants to reflect.

Like the moon, which does not give light, but only reflects the vibration of the Sun so that others can see in the dark.

True purity is therefore not spotless, but transparency.

Not fear of dirt, but courage towards the light.

And whoever reaches this point understands:

purity is not a state, but a direction — back towards the Source.