My face, after about three and a half days of not-shaving, is just right. Revel with me in my scratchiness. Skritch your nails along my chin as you think, and all will become clearer.
See, the practice of not-shaving brings one closer to the truth of anatman, or no-self, a Buddhist notion having to do with the transience of the ego. Shaving, you’re looking at yourself in the mirror, scrutinizing your face, being careful, and polishing up the appearance you present to the world as yourself. Or something. Could be I’m just lazy, but I’m sticking with this anatman thing, going for a low-grade enlightenment of scruffiness.
Hey, Smith, where’d you learn a fancy Sanskrit word like that?