Friday, September 19th

Wow. I so enjoy my own company here at home, alone. It brings a flood of tears to my eyes.

For so long I haven’t had this experience. Such a simple experience it is—to love my own company, right where I am.

Devoid of any need to find something else. A tasty bite. Of food. Of a woman. Of a friend.

No desire to run away from the simplicity of my own presence. Wow. So profound.

And what it’s taken to get here, to get home—I can’t even begin to express it. It feels so good to be soft-hearted, relaxed, safe, and at home.

In the past, when I got a glimpse of this place, there’d be a rush to share the joy with someone. I used to assume the joy would still be there—or even multiply—through sharing. Sometimes it does. But it can also not.

And the flaw was in the assumption that it definitely would.

This was a note in my diary from September 19th. It wasn’t that long ago, and there were a few others from around the same time. I’m trying to locate them now. Oh here is another one.

Sunday, September 14th

Wow. I feel so at peace today. It’s so nice to enter the night alone and full of peace.

No anxiety whatsoever. Zero.
Not running off into poor-quality connections.
No desire to run off into poor-quality social settings.
No desire to run off into snacking.

Brushed and flossed my teeth, sitting down to journal, appreciating the sounds of the night—crickets chirping. No pang in my heart for a partner either. So delightful, this truly.

Having come from a life where eating disorder patterns began around age 7 or so—it is so clear looking back at my childhood photos, when I started putting on weight, when anxiety found its way inside me and began pushing me toward food.

Right after my maternal grandfather introduced me to the demons inside him and his friends. Play the video below to see the demons in action (thanks Grok!).

That pattern stayed with me until very recently. Even this year I’ve had moments, but with much lower intensity. One bite of dried mango v/s ravenously devouring the entire bag. Quite the progress from ordering a large (and we are talking ‘Murican large here) pizza at midnight and demonically devouring it in minutes.

Then at some point around puberty, maybe even before, that same anxiety pushed me toward masturbation—different variations of it, seeking release. That, too, came to a close about a year ago. I haven’t masturbated in a year.

So it’s quite wild to me, this place I have reached.

The Catholic Church considers masturbation a sin, and I agree.

Not from shame, but from the sense that it is not required at all for a creative, alive life. It is a delusion of sorts. You are doing something that is meant to be shared for procreative sexual delight but there is no one with you. Even worse, there is imagery of women who don’t know you exist. What a delusion!

Masturbation is an offering of your creative essence to the one who is permanently separated from our Father in Heaven—the one who rebelled and was cut off from the creative life of God.

He seeks offerings: the spilled seed, the butchering of unborn babies, even our distracted attention.

Our attention is the simplest manifestation of God-given free will—the most basic expression of agency—and when it’s yanked away, that too becomes an offering. Masturbation, abortion, distraction—these are common forms of offerings.

Even sex in which the seed cannot fulfill its creative potential.

Through his rebellion, Satan became disconnected from the creative life that flows from God. His minions draw that life force now out of humans, first by planting anxiety and restless thoughts, so the human can get “stressed” and then gradually pushed towards these sacrificial offerings.

Oh praise the Lord—it feels so good to be free of that yoke. It is a burdensome yoke to carry. To be yoked to demons. So how could you not praise the One who freed you so! Not because you deserved it. But because He loves you!

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
Matthew 11:28–30

I still struggle with distraction sometimes. It’s challenging to live alone and not be distracted. It’s a balance: a genuine desire for connection, and the ability to stay still and grounded within it.

One of the most vivid experiences I’ve had of stillness in connection came through my exploration of Shibari—the Japanese art of rope bondage.

There’s a flavor of what I describe in these journal entries that I experienced there.

I’ve almost exclusively practiced Shibari with women I’ve been attracted to. For a man with anxious, chasing tendencies—as I once had while I was infested with demons—there’s nothing that settles the system more than tying a woman who has agreed to the experience and prepared herself beautifully for it; slowly, securely, tantalizingly until she cannot move.

In her stillness, the chaser within can finally rest. Because there is no motion to chase after, he doesn’t need to chase. He can take his time. The comfort of that stillness in connection—it’s profound.

What a joy it is to feel comfortable and silent in connection.

From that stillness, a man begins to discover the potency of being landed back in his spine, rather than leaning forward in pursuit.

When a man shifts from chasing to inviting, the feminine has room to bloom. You need to do so little to let her open—a tickle here, a tickle there—because women, on average, are more sensitive than men.

Men can access that sensitivity too, but we tend to be disconnected from it, overly focused on our cock, unaware of how sensitive the rest of the body truly is.

A woman’s body, through her menstrual cycle, regularly sheds what doesn’t serve her. That keeps her connected to her sensitivity.

Of course, there are women who’ve become rigid—often from unalchemized pain, often from the masculine—and the deepest heartbreak is when that pain turns into resentment toward men as a whole. Then, softness becomes nearly impossible. The heartbreak of their body’s disconnection from such softness evident in chronic disease that they then live with. Blessings of our Father Below.

It’s such a beautiful space—to live in a softened heart, in a softened body. There’s no rigidity, no pull toward triggers, no anxiety—just peace and bliss. That truly is God’s grace.

Praise the Lord for being so generous with His grace—that He sent His own Son to die such a brutal death on the cross, while maintaining graciousness toward those who mocked, tortured, and crucified Him.

He showed us what that looks like and offered each of us a path to that same grace.

Some might wonder: Vighnesh, you speak about grace, yet you post such “offensive” material. You support Trump. You speak against abortion. You talk about Shibari and the Bible in the same breath. Where is your grace in that?

What I offer is this: there’s a clarity that comes from living in grace. A freedom to speak what seems true, welcoming God’s gentle corrective nudges and the capacity to hold whatever reactions it brings. Those reactions can be difficult to hold sometimes, but that difficulty becomes an invitation to lean deeper into God’s grace.

That’s been my journey this year—to learn how to speak about reality, that lives in me as objective truth, knowing that it can’t be anything more than my subjective perception of it, so it can land softly in the hearts of those who read, without triggering any of the land mines sowed by past wounding.

It seems the way forward is through parables, as Jesus did. He spoke in parables to the public and reserved directness for His disciples.

And that remains my edge: letting go of the joy I feel in being direct, unless God wills that for me coupled with a prayer to grow in graciousness.

Until then, I hope that even my on-the-nose work glorifies God and fulfills His will for my life.