Through a Naturist Lens

I just returned from a sojourn at my son’s home where I got to play extensively with my three grandchildren in the house. My son and his wife also got some of my attention – but not near as much as their children. With my return home, a few chores were waiting for my attention such as shovelling off the driveway before moving on the clear the pathways in the backyard, including a new path to my old propane barbeque which will get a workout late this afternoon. There are more chores yet to do today and a longish hike to take since the weather is mostly cooperative, excepting wind.

Anything I do within the house is always done clothing free. When outside, I wear clothing because it is winter, so that means the hike will be done while wearing clothing. With my wife, it is a different story. She loves her clothing. We are different people and we accept that difference …. for the most part.

Naturally, there is no such thing as 100% compatibility between two people who are in a relationship. Even if we were both naturists or both textiles, there are many, many more factors that prevent one hundred percent accord. The primary difference that causes the most separation is the mind.

Both parties of a relationship come with a history. Differing environments while growing up, and each household even within the same dominant culture, leads to different responses to various physiological and psychological stimuli. What is more important are the hidden from self and other aspects, one’s unconscious contents.

Despite that separate history, two parties in a relationship can decide to go with that which they are aware, those points of contact which result in mutually satisfactory feelings. For example, we both love walking, winter and summer, especially walking together.

Of course, as in our situation, there are more things we share than which keeps us apart. And even then, we have learned to do different things while still sharing space and time. Another example, I write while nude and she does her thing while clothed. We can see and hear each other while we are separately engaged. There is no attempt to try and control the other. And there lays one of the key deal breakers in a relationship – the issue of control.

I want to start off today’s post with a statement: I don’t equate masculinity or femininity to men and women respectively. They are principles of orientation and self-understanding. Gender is gender and not one’s psychology. Biology is a different story. The genetic code is fairly clear on one’s biology. One either has a y chromosome or one doesn’t. No amount of self-identification can change that fact, even if one has undergone a surgical procedure to change the visible evidence of one’s biological gender.

The mind is a different story. I am a man and I identify as such. That said, I am far from an alpha male. I am soft and caring and don’t take charge and don’t do well in leadership roles. As a man, I am often found wanting. I am told I “should be” more like a man and less effeminate. Yet, the evidence of my physical body says otherwise.

The problem in our modern world is that we want to control others where and when we can’t easily control ourselves. That problem given our current economic situation where one can survive outside of a relationship has resulted in an inordinate increase in divorce and separation.

“In our society, sex is wounded by a deep-seated masochism, which finds distorted satisfaction in the suppression of desire. This masochism is a symptomatic and destructive form of surrender. Instead of giving in to our passions, allowing emotion to course through our bodies and psyches, and generously offering ourselves to intimacy, we surrender our joy in life to any authority we can find and we find many authorities willing to condemn us for our longings and pleasures.”Thomas Moore, The Soul of Sex, pp 16-17

And as Jung once said, what is suppressed consciously will find a way to escape. We suppress our sexuality and it re-emerges, usually in a manner that is unhealthy. We see the evidence in our modern world. Nudist gatherings and venues are vested in controlling sexuality, promoting the idea that nudity and the nude body are just nude and have nothing to do with sexuality and sex.

Churches have long done the same doing their best to have sex become only a source of procreation rather than an act of joy. Sex is equated with sin, and sin leaves everyone feeling guilty for having repressed desires. We are in a mess and our soul suffers. Getting out of that mess takes a lot of work, a return to being the original self as a woman or as a man.

It has been a while since my last post here. Why? No real reason comes to mind other than my urge to write has been quite low. It has nothing to do with depression or whatever. The writing muse has decided to take a winter vacation. On this side of the screen, life has been filled with family, shovelling snow, a bit of time with neighbours, going for country walks and reading. I have done more reading in the past two months than I have for the first ten months of 2021. Ten days ago, I got my third vaccination shot for Covid 19. And yes, I still wear a mask when in public spaces as it is required here in my province.

Covid has been the primary topic of conversation since it continues to impact on our “normal” lives as travellers. Typically, I would be preparing for a three-month absence from our home to someplace warm where I could walk more wearing a lot less. I doubt that our travels will begin anytime soon as our borders are becoming more and more difficult to cross. The most that I am hoping for in terms of travel, is being able to attend a grandson’s graduation in the U.S.A. I missed his older brother’s graduation because of Covid19 in 2020.

The world, at least my world, is not all about Covid. I had three books published in the past year and all three have had decent sales with no advertising effort on my part. I have other books in various stages of progress though most are on hold as I mentioned at the beginning of this post. I imagine that this will change once the world of a prairie winter settles in after the New Year.

I can feel it in my bones that I am getting older. I make that statement based on my ability to relax more easily. I also make that statement based on my physical body’s signals that I am not as young as I once was. Perhaps I am approaching the calm attitude of an elder. Though I continue to walk, usually a six-kilometre walk in the countryside each day, I don’t feel as “fit.” My body is softer for the most part. And strangely, it is all okay.

Today, Christmas Day, it is -23 Celsius at 2:00 pm. The sun is out and the wind has diminished to a breeze which means that once this post is published, I will head out into the countryside for another walk with my wife. Once back home, we will work together to make our evening meal, have some wine, and enjoy being alone together. As for clothing, yes I will be wearing clothing as it is too cold to hike on the winter prairies at these temperatures wearing nothing but the skin I was born with – well, not exactly the same skin, you know, cells replace themselves periodically.

Merry Christmas!

I have just read a book by Marilyn Foxworthy and it was a challenge. The author claims to be a woman and I have to accept her claim. The book is erotic and blatantly sexual in content. I don’t read erotica, at least until this instance. There is already too much sexual activity in too many books for my liking. However, that said, it is obvious that this isn’t the attitude for many, many people who buy erotica, or even steamy romance novels. So, why did I read this story?

I was intrigued to see how the author would deal with the issue of nudity, in what could be a pre-historic setting. The book soon told me that it was set in modern times, yet at the same time, it was as though it was trapped in some distant past, Neanderthal times. And the story was erotic, while making it appear that when the mind, the ego was set aside, there were no sexual boundaries, other than those that grew out of fear. And that set me to thinking. This post isn’t a book review. It just takes a book as a catalyst for wondering.

I am a man. I am a sexual being. I love having sex with my partner. And I have had only this one partner. I haven’t lost desire or wonder when it comes to engaging in sex that is wrapped in mutual feelings that I can only describe as love. Strangely, these feelings aren’t limited to when we are nude. I feel the pull to her even when she is clothed. Being nude doesn’t automatically mean sexual activity either. I find it empowering when we can relax beside each other while both of us are fully vulnerable. Yet, I am still a man and I would be lying if I didn’t admit to desire creeping in.

As a modern man, I truly don’t know much about “natural” human sexuality, nor about my own sexuality. I see other women who are nude at times and feel no desire emerge. This is a common occurrence at most naturist resorts and campgrounds from what I have experienced. Those women and assorted men who are nude, are simply nude. I see many images on social media of both men and women who are nude. Again, there is no visceral response. Yet on occasion, there is a response. And that is confusing. Is this simply a guy thing? Or, do women have the same types of responses?

Listening in on social media, it would appear that for the most part, naturists have little to no sex drive. If that is the reality, then I would not qualify to be a naturist. I have a sex drive that is easily kindled by my spouse. All it takes is a certain smile, and I am undone even if we are both wearing clothing. And then there is the impact of the visual dimension. To accentuate all of this sexuality and sex drive, is the element of touch.

I think that modern men and women are suffering greatly. We are in such a hurry to distance ourselves from the perceived “dirty” world of sex, that we hide from each other in layers of clothing, layers of language, and multitude layers of denial. We embarrass ourselves, even when alone, by those sexual desires that push from below our contained sense of self. We don’t want others to know that we are uncivilised beings. And in the process, we forget and deny our “natural” human nature.

We don’t want to talk about it lest others think we are perverts. Though curious, we would never ask another, even one’s mate, to talk about sexual matters. Of course, even if we did find the courage to speak openly, there are so many layers of unconscious protections based on millenia of suppression, that the conversation dies a quick death leaving both sides wounded and perhaps angry and frustrated. Humans have long ago stopped being honest with themselves, and as a result, they are unable to be fully honest with a mate.

So, where to next? Do we risk the dialogue? Perhaps in a safe space such as this? Or, do we silently nod and pass by leaving it all unspoken? There are no judgments being made.

Life is complicated. There are so many unknowns that influence a person’s life, almost too many at times. At first is all seems so simple. Then, we get older. The older a person gets, the more complex even the simplest of things become.

Take love for example. A person falls in love and that love is often mirrored by that other person with whom one has fall in love. It’s simple. “I’m in love!” No other explanation is needed. One dives deep into that love. And as I have written about before, the conscious mind [ego] doesn’t have a say in whether one is in love or not. Then, time passes and the mind has to deal with the result.

Usually, well perhaps not as the divorce and separation stats appear to soar, as the two parties become consciously self and other aware, there is a change in the nature of love and in the relationship between each other. And, things do change, and not always for the better. Both parties find themselves in a new world when they see the person they had chosen as a life partner become strangers. Have they become strangers? Each person as the veil of love is lifted become more and more themselves. What that looks like to the other person is that he or she is now a stranger.

Because of a shared history, there are choices to be made for the survival of the relationship. Sometimes the choice is easy, when there is a gross level of disrespect, a level of danger [either physical or mental], a high level of comfort and trust built over the years, etc. For the rest, it is a matter of time and rekindling those things that had initially bonded the two. However, for perhaps too many, it becomes an economic choice or one based on the fear of being alone. There are no right or wrong answers to be given as each relationship has their own, unique combination of factors.

A brisk walk into the countryside this morning confirmed that it really is winter. Of course, I dressed in layers as there was wind that decided that -10 Celsius wasn’t cold enough. It’s a different story when I find a windbreak to continue my habit of taking a winter challenge.

Being nude while outdoors on the Canadian prairies is a very visceral challenge. Prairie winters can and do kill humans. Think of Siberia and you get an idea of just what is in store for a person during winter on the prairies. Of course, one has to be wise and alert when taking on such a challenge.

First, is the scene free from spectators? There is nothing more noticeable than a naked person outside in the winter time. There is no blending into the scenery. It is simply a physical challenge that is done in private. As such, there is no sexual connotation nor is there an element of exhibitionism in the act of being nude outdoors.

Second, is protective clothing or shelter immediately available should the cold become too much? For myself, a nearby garage or patio door that is unlocked is usually enough. There is no free-hiking for me on the open prairies during the late fall to mid-spring. Well, that is if it isn’t sunny and warmer temperatures than normal which makes it feel warmer that it really is. The human body is tougher than one could possibly imagine after one gets acclimatised.

Third, who is the challenge for? If a person makes it personal rather than responding to the dare of another person, the challenge has more meaning. For me, there is no alcohol or drug involved. The challenge is a personal testing and that is all.

I am bringing the second part of the story to you with this post. This is as far as the story goes to this point in time. Is it a short story, or the beginning of a novel of some sort? I would like to have your input before I make a decision. With that said, here is part two.

~

I leaned back in my office chair rubbing my temples in search of relief from too many hours at the keyboard with nothing to show for his efforts. At least, I hoped that it was this that gave me another blinding headache. The fact that I had written next to nothing today, with the exception of time spent perusing the tweets and Facebook posts of friends and followers, as well as playing a few games of Hearts against the computer only made me feel guilty. My headache just wouldn’t go away. I intuitively knew that the only way I was going to ease my sense of guilt as well as my headache would be to return to the story that demanded to surface from someplace deep within.

It didn’t take much for me to realise that I had tapped into something deeper than my own unconsciousness. There was an archetypal feel for roots of the images that sought to be expressed in words. And, I sensed that I had somehow accessed the central core of whatever it was that lay as a foundation for all life, both conscious and unconscious life. Perhaps it was something called God in a myriad of forms over centuries and millennia. Whatever it was, it seemed to possess me with a will that superseded my own will. Why was I resisting so much, was the uppermost question on my mind. Perhaps, it was fear. After all, becoming the human voice for this inner voice that came out of darkness meant that I would have given up control, not something so easy for me to do. With a sigh, I turned back to the computer and brought up the document I had begun yesterday, reading what I had already written down:

It was dark. Darkness was all that there was, an infinite darkness that was unbound by time and space and place. The darkness was anything but empty. All that was to be, all that would never come to be, everything was already in the darkness simply being unformed. It was dark. It had always had been dark.

Sitting still I heard the echoes of the voice which had demanded that these words be written just this way. With a sigh of resignation, I conceded and let my guard down. And then the words began to flow. Again as I listened to the voice spoke to me.

Time was unmeasured in the darkness. The dark pulsed, alive which it was in a way that defied definition. The darkness was an unconscious and unformed soup of invisible movement. The whole was alive with no parts and with nothing outside of that whole. All was simply being, not becoming, not regressing nor differentiating nor birthing nor dying. The darkness just was.

There came a moment of almost awareness for that darkness, and in that moment, an agitation began to disturb the eternal sameness and sublime nature of simply being. That moment of almost awareness gave birth to form which gave birth to matter. Yet, in spite of the creation, the whole was still as it always was.

So it came to be that the whole became a universe in which a gathering of energy had birthed galaxies, solar systems, planets, and moons, and other sterile forms with the space between them remaining a darkness that had no definable substance.

“You know,” I commented, “If I didn’t know better, I would say that this is just a complicated way of saying the first line in the book of Genesis in the Bible.”

“You’re right. I knew that you had it in you to write this. By the way, you kept your ego out of the way today, and wrote it just like I wanted it written.”

“But why bother with re-writing what already has been written. You know that it will only create a boatload of misery for me and most of the world. I will likely be terrorised and likely even murdered when, and if, this gets published,” I sighed.

“Having doubts?”

“Well, it’s not that I have any choice,” I admitted, “but no. I guess I just want to understand what I am doing and why I am doing it.”

“Well, the times have changed and fewer and fewer people have a clue of what I had written for me in the past. You know that Genesis wasn’t the only version that was recorded. I have been explaining to all animate life that was able to grasp at least a small part of the story in multiple versions suited for the time and place of those who would hear it. That time has rolled around again. Humans need new words, a new true story.”

“But why me?” I asked, puzzled and surprised with what I was hearing. I knew I was either stark-raving mad or . . .  a thought I didn’t dare complete.

“Well, just think about it. You’ve had a good life, well a good life of sorts – family, a career, love, and all that you have ever needed. You have spent a lot of time exploring where not many others have dared to look. True, you got seriously lost more than a few times in the process, but here you are now doing my work.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, there is also the fact that the boundaries between yourself and me have weakened enough to allow you hear me. Your willingness to be vulnerable in search of meaning and truth, a vulnerability that shows up in your poetry, your photography and your embracing the natural body you were gifted with. Isn’t that enough?”

“Yeah,” I conceded. “I think I get the gist of what you are saying. But, something tells me I will have more to ask you as the story gets told.

And just like that, the voice went silent.

After a conversation with a nameless entity, it dawned on me that I should be telling this story here. The words, “It was a dark and stormy night,” seemed to be almost the perfect beginning for a novel. Yes, a novel with a sense of humour. Now, to be honest, this wasn’t my idea at all. Left to my own devices, I would stay as far away from a story like this as possible. But the nameless entity is insistent. Just think of me as a scribe for the unknowable, doing what he is told by someone who is commissioning a work. Just don’t think I’ve lost all of my marbles.

* * *

Prologue

It was a dark and stormy night.

“Erase that, you can’t write that. I hadn’t invented night yet. Everyone knows that to have a night, there also has to be a day with morning, afternoon, and evening thrown in for good measure. All that comes later.”

“Okay, okay already,” I grumbled. How about, “It was dark and stormy.”

“Geez, can’t you just write what I tell you to write? It wasn’t stormy. You can’t have storms without planets, atmosphere and weather systems. Just write. “It was dark.”

“Boring,” I stated with exasperation. “I heard what you said. Yes, it was dark and that is the whole story for so long that you finally got bored of nothing but darkness. Do you really think anyone will want to read a story that basically talks about nothing else but darkness?”

“That’s not fair. You know that there is a huge story that will follow.”

“You talk about being fair?” I protested. “If there was any fairness, I wouldn’t be writing this crap that no one in their right mind is ever going to believe, even as a fiction story if they even bother to read it at all.”

~

It isn’t as easy as I thought it was going to be, to write this story, especially since it isn’t even my story. I’m like a ghost writer with my name never being attached to the document, not that I would actually want to ever admit that I was ever involved.

It wasn’t easy, as the voice in my head was determined to control every single word that was to be put on the paper, well, the keyboard and screen. I had been reluctant to give in to this impulse to write this particular story as the voice wanted the “truth” to be told as it had never been told before. When I protested that it couldn’t be a novel if it wasn’t fiction; and if it was fiction, then the words really didn’t matter as long as the story was told. My reluctance to give in to the inner voice only resulted in a headache that didn’t let up for several days.

I took my concerns to the woman who is my significant other. All that she had to tell me was to just go with it, trust that the inner voice, to trust it as my muse. After all, what did I have to lose other than a headache whenever I resisted that muse? I had to admit that she was likely right about the whole mess. After all, when the story was done, I sure as hell didn’t have to publish it. Conceding a defeat of sorts, I returned to the keyboard to let the story be told.

~

It was dark. Darkness was all that there was, an infinite darkness that was unbound by time and space and place. The darkness was anything but empty. All that was to be, all that would never come to be, everything was already in the darkness unformed. It was dark, It had always had been dark. And it was boring.

“Boring? I didn’t tell you to write ‘boring!’”

We went out for a 10 kilometre walk this morning. The sky was overcast and the temperature was -2 Celsius with a southwest breeze. We walked at a brisk pace for us, five km/hr. Being shorter than most, and being in our seventies doesn’t let us walk much faster most of the time. Now, we are back in our home with our fireplace enough of a heat source for me to feel comfortable in my own skin. I don’t wear clothing unless we have company or it’s time for a meal. It just is the way it is. In our home, that is normal.

When the weather is cooperative, I am outdoors in our yard the same way, clothing free. Our neighbours know that this is the case and have accepted that as normal. It’s not what one could call social nudity as I am the only one nude. Because of Covid, I haven’t been to the AANR-WC club closest to my home for two years, a club that is four hours distant from my home. Hopefully, that will change come next summer.

I’ve been reading a number of social media posts that have certain individuals want to control the nudist/naturist universe. The authors of these posts are adamant about who is or isn’t a nudist. For them, it becomes almost religious as though written in some sort of bible that just being nude does not qualify a person to self-identify as a nudist. Of course, in each of these attempts to “control” the narrative, these writers take it upon themselves do judge people as nudists only if these people do what the writers do, and how they do it.

Control of others is always an indicator that the person has a poor self-concept and needs to be constantly validated by others who “follow” willingly. It’s as if “Well, they are following me so I must be right and okay” is the needed drug of choice. Of course, it all comes down to “self” in the end.

I self-identify as a male, a father, a husband, a grandfather, as a naturist, as an author, as an Indigenous Canadian, as a Métis, as …. Well, you get it, I self-identify. Others may dispute any one part for whatever reason that comes to mind. However, when they do, it really isn’t about me, it is always about them. In depth psychology, it is called projection.

As a result, whenever I see a person or a group seeking to control others, I begin to think that the person or group has a real issue with controlling themselves. What are your thoughts?

The sun isn’t up yet as I enter these words onto my keyboard on Remembrance Day. The day is meant as a time of reflection. Though I had issues with my father who was anything but a good father, I do recognise that life hadn’t dealt him a fair hand either. He was a child in the dirty thirties, found himself a father when he was only eighteen when he joined the military to take part in the Korean War. He was injured there but thankfully survived and returned home. He was a wounded warrior in many ways.

Those wounds coloured the remainder of his life. Why did he go to war when there was a child at home and another on the way? Only he knew, if even he knew. Before he died in a veterans’ hospital, we had reconciled. My anger had been spent and I felt nothing but sadness for what we had both lost over the years. He was my father and I loved him just because of that. And I know, in his own way, he loved me as well.

Being wounded by life seems to be a natural condition. We don’t need wars to be wounded. The effect on the human psyche is the same whether the wounds are physical or mental. Everyone is wounded, though not all know this. The wounding begins not long after birth, a necessary wounding so that a dependent baby eventually becomes an independent adult. Have you ever wondered why those who appear to have everything going for them – a good family, education, wealth, health, and the respect and love of others – why they suffer? It doesn’t make sense that these golden people get divorced, become alcoholics and/or drug addicts, and sink into the darker regions.

Survival is what counts first, when one has been wounded. How one survives ranks second. Surviving comes first. Once physical survival has been achieved, the how becomes a series of choices one makes consciously or unconsciously over the rest of one’s life. Even “floating in the wind” rather than controlling to some degree the choices with which one is faced, is a choice. For some, such as myself, naturism was a choice, a choice that pulled me away from the brink of self-annihilation.

Like I said earlier, the first task is to survive, and yes, my survival was at risk. My wife, my children, and my grandchildren are glad that I chose life, a choice that I had to make a number of times over the decades from adolescence on. I imagine that others are also glad. Though it might not be evident to a person on the brink of extinction, one is never alone. Every survival has its impact, every death has its impact. Not all have a choice when it comes to surviving. Death on a battlefield, in a car, in a fire, etc., doesn’t exactly provide one with a choice.

However, if “will” allows for the choice between surviving or not, the choice to survive is a monumental task in itself. That task remains constant for those who have suffered the most. The will to survive despite one’s wounds are what heroes are made of. For all of his brokenness, my father was a hero.