I Spent 20 Years in a Monastery, and All I Got Was This Enlightened Perspective

A satirical reflection by Virgin Monk Boy (aka Alek, who now spiritually moonlights as your local heretic with a halo)

Mar 23, 2025

A satirical and humorous digital illustration of a former monk turned modern mystic. The character is wearing half a traditional monk robe and half casual clothes (like jeans and a hoodie), sitting cross-legged on a meditation cushion. He's holding a coffee mug that says 'Still Pure-ish' and has a sarcastic smirk on his face. Behind him is a background that blends a serene monastery with chaotic city life – half temple, half street art wall. The overall tone is playful and ironic, with a hint of spiritual depth.

I gave God my 20s, my 30s, and my Wi-Fi privileges.

For two decades, I lived on a mountain where the only notifications I got were from bells, not phones. I prayed seven times a day, ate like a prisoner, and lived with 18 men who thought silence was a love language. We had robes, rules, and roughly zero tolerance for anything fun. Our idea of a wild night? Chanting the Psalms in a minor key while secretly fantasizing about butter.

And for the record—yes, I was celibate. No, it wasn’t noble. It was just me, aggressively avoiding temptation like a medieval popup blocker.

The Holy Disillusionment

Here’s a plot twist the ancient scrolls forgot to mention:

You can spend your whole life in sacred spaces and still not know the Divine.

You can memorize every scripture, nail every ritual, and still be more spiritually constipated than a squirrel in winter.

In fact, toward the end of my monastic sentence (sorry, “vocation”), I realized I wasn’t getting closer to truth—I was just getting better at pretending. I had confused rigidity with righteousness. Silence with superiority. And self-denial with holiness.

Spoiler: none of those things are enlightenment. They’re just very polite ways to run from your humanity.

The Breakup with Dogma

Leaving the monastery wasn’t easy. It felt like divorcing God’s PR team.

But once I stepped outside the sacred bubble, the weirdest thing happened…
I started actually experiencing God.

Not the brand-approved version.
Not the one filtered through 2,000 years of insecure theologians.
But the one found in awkward conversations, bad coffee, belly laughter, breakup songs, and sunrise hangovers of the soul.

I discovered that Divine Love isn’t fragile.
It doesn’t need you to tiptoe.
It’s not going to smite you for Googling “kundalini yoga while Orthodox.”

Turns out, God has range.

Enter: Virgin Monk Boy

So now I’m here.
A reformed robe-wearer with a new mission:

To roast spiritual BS, hug messy humans, and remind the world that enlightenment isn’t a destination—it’s a punchline whispered by the Universe when you finally stop trying so hard.

Virgin Monk Boy is not a brand.
It’s a confession.
It’s my way of saying, “Yeah, I tried to be perfect. It sucked. Here’s what I learned instead.”

Now I teach people how to:

Meditate without falling asleep (or pretending you didn’t).
Let go of shame without joining a cult.
Reconnect with the Sacred while still laughing at fart jokes.

Because spiritual awakening doesn’t mean becoming a vegan Jedi who judges everyone at Whole Foods.

It means learning to hold paradox in one hand, and snacks in the other.

Final Blessing (of sorts)

So yeah… 20 years in a monastery.
No wife. No kids. No regrets.
Just a fireproof soul, a bruised ego, and a sense of humor forged in divine frustration.

I left with nothing but this:

You don’t need a monastery to find truth.
Just the courage to question what you were taught, and the audacity to love yourself anyway.

Welcome to the temple of sacred sarcasm.
No shoes required. Robes optional.

🕊️
#VirginMonkBoy
#StillPureIsh
#HolyRebel

The Virgin Monk Boy Scrolls

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