Imagine you are on top of a mountain, dancing and celebrating. Then a woman joins you there.

Now both of you are dancing, rejoicing and celebrating.

Frolicking.

What a great adventure together on top of this mountain with the flowing breeze!

The sun sets.
You frolic through the night.
The sun rises.

You hear a faint rustling sound.

It’s coming from the foot of the mountain. The sound is very faint, yet it feels quite familiar to both of you.

For some reason, she panics.
You panic.

There is a pail of oil sitting at the edge of the cliff.

You can still hear the rustling sound coming from the bottom. Something’s trying to climb up the harsh slope of the mountain.

Let’s dump oil down the side of the mountain, she says.

You feel alarmed.

“It’s natural. The oil is natural”—she soothes you.

You like feeling soothed by her.

You and a friend are walking on a long road together. You come by a man lying on the side of the road.

It is unclear to you if the man is alive.

There is a machete lying next to him.

You want to pray over him in the name of Jesus to see if he comes alive like in the many instances in the New Testament. Would that count as testing God? You are not sure.

She suggests that you hack him to death.

We don’t know for sure if it is alive, she shrugs.

The world is cruel enough, his life would be full of suffering, she reasons.

The freedom of the Liberal West is rooted in a lack of a sense of relational responsibilities.

You do you, bestie!

The Liberal West, thereby, is doing a great service to women around the world.

Women who have no clue how to you do you. Women who don’t know the extent to which you can do you.

Men have known that extent.

Although many today live a bit neutered from their full capacity for you do you, men have known historically that you doing you can be at the direct expense of another being.

Through ages, men have effectively wielded tools like rape and murder to demonstrate their great capacity to you do you at the expense of another being.

Meanwhile, women’s access to violence has been, thus far, limited to the emotional plane, via snide remarks, gossip and slander.

Not any more.

Women are now fully stepping into their capacity for physical violence. Unborn babies in the West are at the receiving end of it.

September 2022

I had just landed in India.

I left my home in Ancram, that I shared with my then-wife. Took a train to Brooklyn. Decided to do a guided MDMA ceremony with my friend.

Just to ease the heart-ache I had accumulated from the past year, I thought.

Before taking the flight to India.

It’d be nice to ease some of this heart-ache, I thought.

For a week, I had stood every morning under a hot shower pointed straight at the very physical tension around my heart. There was a very specific argumentative escalation pattern that had wrecked my relationship and it seemed like there was no out. You know what that’s like yeah?

I’ll do some MDMA, ease my heart a little bit and then head home for Ganesh Chaturthi celebrations to freshen up and then head back and continue the relational work, I thought.

As we sat down for the ceremony, my friend asked me for my intentions.

I closed my eyes and the words that came out were—I would like to never reactively close my heart up ever again.

As I finished that ceremony, the story I carried about my childhood had a dent in it. From a “normal” childhood, I got to the question—wait, was I sexually abused as a child?

It was disorienting to say the least.

A few days after, I was out on a walk with my mom in my uncle’s neighborhood in Pune. I asked her if she remembered anything about my childhood around the possibility of being sexually abused.

Boy, has it been a journey to get to asking her that question! Adult survivors in the house, gimme a hell yeah if you know what I’m talking about.

Especially in a language that doesn’t lend itself well to talking about sex, because no one talks about it.

“Do you remember anything sexual happening with me when I was a child?”

“Not really, I never really knew that such things happened with little boys so I wasn’t paying attention.. what made you think of that?”

I kept myself composed from the gut-wrenching nature of the first part of that response to stay on track with the interrogation.

I told her about the MDMA-psilocybin journey in which I had reached this child-like space of pure innocence, which then switched into the delight of first sexual touch. Something so new and pleasant. How I needed to pause to integrate this wild new delightful experience. But it wouldn’t pause. It kept on going and going. The cycles getting more and more intense, till I was screaming “No, make it stop!” and my entire body started bucking with the shuddering waves of an energetic orgasm.

I paused there and saw her face.

I could tell. I was beginning to feel a bit horrified, but I could tell.

You can always kinda tell when you have used a word that the person in front of you has never heard of.

She asked me innocently—”what’s an orgasm?”.

I tried digging my Marathi vocabulary to locate the Marathi word for orgasm and came back empty.

It was heartbreaking, on so many levels.

To realize that my mother did not know the word orgasm.

I had heard of myths of women living entire lives without experiencing one, but it really hit me hard to have this experience with my mother.

Just like I had heard of children being sexually abused, but it really hit hard when I remembered I was too.

If a woman is unaware of the full range of her sexual expression, would she be clueless when her son comes home after having experienced his first orgasm with his grandfather?

If my mother had spent enough time chanting “My Body, My Choice”, would I have been sexually abused?

Women have lived caged, far too long in possessive, abusive relationships with no freedom to exit those and chart their own independent life story.

(What is it with all these structures in society that tend towards imprisonment? Marriage, the Ego, prisons, public schools, the immigration system? The Creator of the material realm absolutely has to be a Prison Master, no?)

My Body, My Choice was wrought in the societal context of widespread sexual abuse.

My Body, My Choice carries tremendous potential to free women from feeling beholden to being sexual with men.

Women need to embrace that freedom towards men.
Women need to embrace that freedom towards women.
Men need to embrace that freedom towards women.
Men need to embrace that freedom towards men.

An Idea that serves you really well in a certain context, has the potential to impede you in others.

Let’s take the example of a cheat meal.

Imagine that you are a gym bro. You have been religiously in a caloric deficit, while still hitting your protein goals every day for a week. Then you treat yourself to a plate of absolutely delicious nachos at the Grey Eagle Taqueria in River Arts District or a plate of queso fries at the W.A.L.K in West Asheville (close to the river), a SouthWestern take on poutine—french fries slathered in queso, with burger meat on top.

That cheat meal would serve your desire to be swole. You are embodying the Idea to its fullest potential.

Now imagine that you ate either of the two every day—ideally the nachos, but the W.A.L.K. is literally walking distance (middle American walking distance viz. 5 min)—you would become obese.

The Idea of eating queso fries freed you—quite literally in terms of greater range of motion, greater capacity to move, less likely to be injured or need pills—in the former scenario, but then imprisoned you in the latter.

Now if you were to eat that cheat meal, not from a place of gratitude, self-love and enjoyment but from a place of self-loathing because your entire workout routine is rooted in self-loathing, that will imprison you too! Because you’ll bring that self-loathing to everyone you interact with, judge others who don’t restrict your body from a place of loathing like you do and contract your relational field with others, robbing you of the surprising nourishment that an expansive relational field rooted in love and agency can bring.

My Body, My Choice in the context of sexual abuse, frees the woman because it reminds her of more of her agency.

It can remind her that she can say No even to her husband. That she can trust the tightening in her body from the sense in her body that tracks his secretive porn consumption. She doesn’t need to understand that pornography opens him up to be possessed by unclean spirits which will transfer to her through sex causing health and energetic complications, to say No to his advances till he commits to quitting porn.

It can remind her that she can choose an entirely celibate life if she doesn’t want to deal with the life-giving ramifications of sex.

But the same Idea when used to adopt delusional reasoning to murder the life that sex inevitably seeds into the womb, imprisons the woman by layering onto her karmic debt that is very difficult to settle.

The independence of a woman is inherently at odds with the embodied experience of pregnancy, wherein the woman accepts dependence from the most innocent form of human life imaginable, and thereby herself becomes dependent on others.

Pregnancy can provide a channel for an independent woman to soften back into interdependence with the collective. Back into the loving fabric of a new society different from the one that launched her into her journey of independence.

One where she is dependent on love. On being taken care of. On being lovingly provided for.

Not solely in support of her individual escapades—although that can be a part of the equation—but also in service of nurturing and literally birthing the new society.

An Idea that sets you free in a stage of your evolutionary journey can imprison you in the next. As you experience the freedom offered by the Idea, the Ego starts developing a fond attachment to it.

What freed you now imprisons you.

The attachment of the Ego to the freeing Ideas from a particular stage of evolution needs to wither away in order for the next stage of evolution to come through. Thereby, evolution spirals upwards.

From codependence to independence to interdependence.

An inertial process is a process that tends to continue motion in supportive conditions unless an external actor takes an intentional step to halt it.

A resilient inertial process is a process that has inertia towards movement and tends to do so in spite of steps taken by external actors to halt it.

If the forward motion of the process is at a scale that can’t be seen, yet you find yourself taking repeated steps with the intention of halting the process, you are acting from a belief that the process has resilient forward-moving inertia.

Why else would you take repeated steps to halt the process if you believe that the process wasn’t resiliently moving forward?

When a womb is seeded, it kickstarts a resilient, forward-moving inertial process that catapults towards a full-grown human that is the perfectly embodied reflection of the act of love between the man that the seed came from and the woman that holds the womb.

In the grand scale of time, this process barely takes any time at all.

Compared to the scale of say geological processes, you go from a fertilized egg to a full grown human being who is about to breathe their last, in the blink of an eye.

Every time I have engaged to halt such a process it has been because I was under this delusion that questions when life begins.

Now this delusion has rooted itself most clearly in America and more broadly, in the West.

Why is that the case, I have wondered?

I believe this is a side effect of having a well-functioning punitive justice system that is in cahoots with a prison-industrial complex.

Presently, the dominant response to crime in human society is imprisonment, which often leads to a human being trapped in horrific cycles of abuse inside the prison system.

If the legal system was reformative in nature, then we would not be having this argument to the extent we are.

If the legal system was reformative in nature, women and men won’t practice deluding themselves with the belief that the frantic steps they are taking to halt the resilient forward-moving inertial process is only to discard fetal cells. It’s not murder, of course not—don’t be silly!

The only reason this delusion persists is because the legal system is punitive, which is such a horrible design, truly! I do wonder where we might be if the Old Testament, a punitive legal text, did not have as much of a hold on Christianity and thereby, America, a nation founded on Christian ideals.

If the legal system was suffused with the grace and forgiveness that Jesus brought us, we might not be having this debate.

In legal systems around the world which are more imperfect—the imperfections allowing space for grace to flow through—this debate is not raging as wildly as it is here.

We are having this debate in America because women and the men who want to fuck them, don’t want to go to jail.

A very reasonable want.

Who would want to go to jail? Jail is absolutely horrible. No one should be sent to jail!

Cancellation is a better societal alternative to imprisonment.

In a sense, that’s why cancellation is emerging in society in the past couple of decades. Cancellation, as an Idea, is trying to replace Imprisonment.

There is some value in isolating a human from a community, organically so via the independently expressed agency of each individual in the community, so that they may contemplate their life choices in isolation and decide to make different more harmonious choices in life.

There is value in the notion of Isolation.

Imprisonment tries to manifest that value, but horribly so.

Imprisonment is not really isolating.

Imprisonment gathers together all those who have shown susceptibilities to evil tendencies.

In their togetherness, the evil festers. Prisons, including the people who run them, become hotbeds of evil.

Imprisonment attempts to isolate an individual but presently bifurcates the society.

Bifurcation, in its varied forms, tends to fester evil. Dissociation is a form of bifurcation. Judgment is a form of bifurcation.

Cancellation is a better alternative to imprisonment.

Let us collectively cancel the women who abort babies.

One mode of such cancellation could be that no man acquiesces to have penetrative, ejaculative vaginal sex with them. To be gracious in the structure of the cancellation, other forms of sexual intercourse are permitted—to be specific, ejaculative anal, ejaculative oral, non-ejaculative vaginal are okay.

Women, even when abortively minded, like feeling the warmth of the seed inside them. Because their wombs are so desperately longing to be seeded every month, weeping blood every cycle it doesn’t happen.

So it’d be a cancellation of sorts.

In the Isolation fostered by such cancellation, they would be forced to sit with and contemplate their life choices.

Perhaps some would end up embracing celibacy—good for them! Some others would sit silently enough to release the creative cauldrons in their wombs from the prisons of their independent minds.

Men need to free themselves from Lust and learn to say No to attractive women who have murderous intentions for their seed.

The thrill of an orgasm is not worth the extinguishing of your progeny, brother. Don’t send your seed into a womb guarded by a mind that intends to halt your legacy.

There is nothing hotter than a free woman.

Truly.

We need fully sexually empowered women. Is seeding murderous intentions in the creative cauldron of the womb the way of sexual empowerment? Or is that overstepping?

It is quite boring to engage with a woman who panders in her responses and mannerisms to men. There’s no surprise in the connection. You can almost always guess what a pandering person is about to say.

And from that very selfish desire for surprisingly alive relationships and connection, I believe it is every man’s responsibility to track when a woman around him is collapsing in shame—and fawning. Giving a response because she thinks that is the response he wants to hear.

And let her know—hey, you know, you don’t need to do this, right? You don’t need to say this. Is this truly what you want?

It is our collective responsibility to fight against the forces of shame.

For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. Ephesians 6:12

It is our collective responsibility to fight against the forces of shame that collapse humans away from their agency into a conditioned way of being, a conditioned way of speaking.

In moments where you sense that conditioning might be arising, it is important to remind each other of our agency. To surface other options.

And from that belief, I have wondered.

Is it important to surface the alternative to a woman who has just been inseminated that she could guzzle down a natural tea that makes it difficult for the fertilized egg to latch onto the inner layer of a womb?

I would like to adopt this orientation that helps each other recognize the fullness of our agency.

Does that mean I should ensure that every inseminated woman knows that she has the choice to prevent life from latching onto her womb, poison it if it has latched on, suction it away or dismember it if needed?

She does, truly, have that choice!

Even if imprisoned and put into solitary confinement, she could punch her belly till the baby dies.

Even if her hands are tied up, she could mutter silent curses calling upon the forces of Death to feed on the life in her womb.

There is no seed of doubt in my mind that she has the choice. Every woman has that choice.

Akin to my choice to murder every homeless person that I walk by.

I can look at an individual who is suffering on the streets, struggling to latch onto life and go—hmm, I feel contracted and less care-free when I walk by their stink. Their existence is a source of discomfort in my life.

None of the homeless folks are serving me because I feel uncomfortable and less free when I walk by them.

I feel pressured to do more than just hand them a couple of dollars every time.

If I were to encourage a woman to know that she has the choice to kill life in her womb, would it not be consistent of me to encourage all my friends to know that they have the choice to kill off homeless folks?

Oh—that’s easy to resolve—your choice is only limited to your body, bro.

A conveniently individualistic Western framework that seems to break down at the edge of human experience that pregnancy is.

All individualistic Western frameworks seem to break down at the edges, where shared space begins.

All life is connected.

And it is quite the dualistic choice we are presented. We are either Team Life or Team Death.

Any action taken in service of Death has reverberations in the karmic relational field. These reverberations really hurt the physical body.

Women, who turn their wombs into a playground for death, (seem to) suffer from chronic health conditions.

Can it be beneficial for anyone’s soul to support abortion? The child’s? The woman? The mans?

Delusional thinking doesn’t protect you from karmic costs.

If I were to manipulate myself upon a woman, who then starts fawning and making sexy sounds because that’s all she has learnt to do—oh, she is into it, I delude myself—I will still carry the karmic costs of the transgression as the bodies keep the score.

The best thing I can do in such a scenario is to encourage the woman towards celibacy.

The best way a man can demonstrate that is by upholding strong sexual boundaries when sexual arousal is coming through in connection with a woman who has murderous intentions for the life that wants to seed itself in her womb.

And it’s not easy. It’s really not easy to do that!

I imagine there could be space to engage sexually in other ways with an abortively minded woman. You could engage in sensual play, fellatio, cunnilingus, anal. There might even be some room for penetrative vaginal sex by tracking her cycle.

But honestly, there is no guarantee! The moment a phallus enters a yoni, there is no guarantee that life won’t seed.

It could even happen as the egg is disappointedly flowing down in the menstrual flow and the incoming semanly seed suffuses it with life.

A post-apocalyptic love story right as the volcano has erupted and hot lava is flowing down.

Their love and longing for each other keeping them afloat. Protecting them against the deluge. Like Noah and his wife. And each coupled animal on the ark. Quite miraculously, they succeed!

Especially so if the man is resilient and the woman he copulates with, matches his resilience. There is truly no guarantee!

My brothers, stay strong. The culture war is a spiritual battle.

Do not allow your seed to be wasted. It is more valuable than the dollars in your bank account.

Do not allow your seed to be wasted, brothers!

Not in intentionless ejaculations to pornography. Not in murderous wombs.

Epilogue

I recognize that this is a very charged essay.

I have sat with it for a bit after it came through. Upon reflection, I realized that this essay is written in opposition.

It is the antithesis to My Body, My Choice—which itself is in opposition to patriarchal abuse.

I’m using the Hegelian Dialectic here, as it applies to evolution of ideas, where an Idea (thesis) emerges, but its incomplete nature calls forth its polar opposite (antithesis). From the polar tension between the two, emerges the synthesis.

Patriarchal abuse and My Body, My Choice, are in opposition to each other, tied together by their proclivity to launch an assault on innocence.

My essay above presents the antithesis to My Body, My Choice.

I am sitting with what the synthesis might be.

I contemplate: what is it about this subject that evokes such a strong reaction in me?

Is it just the Aquarian Moon in me that feels at home only when it finds the one thing that could trigger everyone in the communal space I occupy? A revolutionary can’t belong.

How much of my antithesis is from personal reactivity and what is the Idea, independent of my personality, that wants to be birthed through my expression?

As I contemplated these questions, I was reminded of my history of latching onto women.

Right from being a fertilized egg that latched onto my mother’s womb, to being an infant latching onto her breast, to a grown breast-obsessed man with unresolved mother wounding latching onto “titties” and “boobies”, to a man who finds such deep comfort in sharing a breath with the receptive feminine that he still notices the proclivity to latch onto her company, forgetting his dharma, turning every woman he meets into his therapist.

Oh so soft he feels, in feminine presence, that he has to work hard not to latch on too soon. Because when he latches on too soon, he loses his connection to his Dharma.

The thought that the female target of his latching could say No! What! What a jarring experience to sit with!

What if I am feeling so vulnerable that I really need her! Can she still say No? Oh, the horror!

What if I am a single, diploid cell that has formed right when my Father’s sperm has successfully penetrated and combined with her ovum? Can she still say No? Egad!

Where do I even go then?

Does my soul just shrug and go—oh well, let’s just honor this woman’s choice like we never managed to, in all these lifetimes and pick another body suit?

Does my soul get stuck in the womb where the decision was made? Infesting her over time. Causing chronic health conditions?

Is it a challenging death? Is it quick? Is it pain-free?

I don’t know.

The end of the essay is calling for men to enforce a (partial) sexual boycott of women. I did not realize until I spoke about it with my sister that it mirrors what many women on the Left are calling for—a sexual boycott of men who don’t respect their bodily autonomy to turn their wombs into a gas chamber for zygotes.

That enforced my epilogical sense that what I have written above is the antithesis to My Body, My Choice. An equal and polar opposite mirror.

Do I want men and women to sexually boycott each other for ever? Of course not, don’t be silly.

I am also aware that what I’m asking of men above is quite a big ask.

To demonstrate a level of sexual skill where you are neither cutting yourself off eros completely, even open to engaging sexually with (what I’d call) an abortively-minded women, but ensure that your seed is not exposed to the forces of Death.

I ask that in a culture of men who struggle to say No to virtual hotties.

It’s a big ask!

What though are the karmic, energetic implications of a man’s seed being destroyed in a womb? In what ways is a man’s life affected when he chooses life pathways that cultivate the destruction of what his seed wants to create? Can such a man create anything substantial?

I don’t know.

A few days after I started reading this essay, I found myself with the third book of Dr. Robert Svoboda’s trilogy Aghora, titled The Law of Karma.

In that book, the Aghori Vimalananda—Dr. Svoboda’s mentor—mentions that the soul doesn’t enter the fetal body until around the time the heart starts beating.

Does that mean it’s okay to discard the physical fetal body before the heart beat? Is Vimalananda accurate? How does one accurately determine the presence of a heart beat? If you can’t detect a beat, does it mean that it conclusively doesn’t exist?

At a Friday evening seminar on embryology in West Asheville, I learnt that the creation process kicks off even as the fertilized egg is making its way up to the uterus. What is the distinction between material creation and ensoulment?

What happens to the karma that the soul is bringing in if it respects the agency of its mother to say No?

A lot of the collective karmic debt of the present times seems to have to do with dishonoring the agency of women to say No.

Could a tender soul’s capacity to honor a woman’s No while being in such a vulnerable physical state release all the karmic debt that led to its rebirth?

Could an act of (what the Christian right would call) abortion lead to complete enlightenment for the soul?

Full release from the material prison that this realm seems to be.

What even is Death if the material realm is a prison?

Many many questions to sit with.

It is quite clear that we need to have more conversations on this subject.

Brothers, don’t be afraid of opening up the topic, with tenderness.

Let women call you names if they want to. See, they are in a stage of evolution where exercising their agency to be violent, in a variety of ways—abortion, name-calling—comes with their experimentation of their freedom.

Let them have that moment. Don’t take it in.

With soft, tender boundaries, we can direct our sisters into even greater freedom than what My Body, My Choice promises.