Through a Naturist Lens

Morning hoar frost. I got up in the pre-dawn darkness, as usual. I love this time of day. It is almost as if I have entered an alternate universe. I own this alternate universe and everything is possible. No wonder dreams come at night time. And what appears to be a paradox, it is as though a light has been turned on to reveal things about oneself that are hidden during the light of day. There is no analysing of what appears. It simply appears and that is good enough. The sights, the hints, the textures, the shadows, the presences. Though often cloaked, they are there and one knows it.

As night becomes day, a different sense of self emerges, one that is in sharp contrast to the blurry possibilities of night time. Unknown to the ego, the night has shifted the self ever so slightly to have one’s conscious self to stretch the boundaries of the known outer world. But, this shift is temporary. It’s as if the door to a revised present has a time switch where one enters at their own risk, risking change.

Should one hesitate at the portal that appears, it fades and is replaced by the “same old, same old” scenes that are less fearsome. Like a hamster on its wheel, we spin through the rest of the day with repeated scripts that keep the unknown at a distance. The night waits for yet another opportunity to have the soul enlarge its cage. And for those, so wrapped in repetitive mantras and habits, those opportunities are often called nightmares.

It’s Saturday afternoon and I am at my son’s home. The littlest is down for his nap and number two is playing quietly. The eldest of the three has gone out for an afternoon of snowboarding on a local hill. It has been five months since I have been here. Just twenty-four hours after arriving, and I am almost exhausted by the non-stop activity with them. This is my first bit of quiet time since arriving. Do to a number of reasons, I am here to help out with childcare, a valid reason during this time of the Covid19 Pandemic. I imagine I will be here for a good week before I return to my little house on the prairies.

Before I left, I took a photo in anticipation that I wouldn’t be taking one for a number of days while away from home. Does it have a purpose for this post? Not really. It simply captured a moment in time while the sun was shining and the temperature drew me to go outside au naturel. It was an impulse, or perhaps an inspiration. Moments after taking the photo, I returned to continue writing my latest work-in-progress, a story that has a working title called Bruce and the Black Irish Woman.

I had originally started this story late last spring. However, after about three thousand words, I abandoned the story as I got caught up in a novella about the pandemic. I had barely finished that novella when it was time to take part in NaNoWriMo last December. That was followed by my eldest grandson asking when I would finish writing “his” story with him as the protagonist. Near the end of February, the first draft of that novel was completed. I then sent out that story to a few beta readers for comments before I turn to doing the first round of editing. Finally, I found myself returning to the story of Bruce.

The story has Bruce as a Jungian psychotherapist. The idea was to create a realistic male who works in the field of mental-health therapy. I had zero intention of turning it into speculative fiction. However, good intentions didn’t matter. The story was progressing fine with just the right amount of psychological depth. I was hoping to talk about a man’s inner anima, the source of libido and life force. Then, a few days ago, three figures from Turkish mythology were mentioned though not necessarily as two gods and a goddess. No sooner had I written the scene when Twitter announced that I had a new follower. I went to check out who it was [I often cull unwanted followers who are looking for porn] and saw that I had a poet knocking at the door. The poet was from Turkey. It was a synchronous moment.

I have put the first chapter on Wattpad as a free read. I will be posting a number of chapters from the book up at Wattpad. I invite all of you to read the story as it grows and offer comments of encouragement on the site. If you like the story, please click on the star [Vote] to let me and others know that the story is worth reading. Of course, this story is in its unedited form. Hopefully, enough people will like it, thus encouraging me to make the effort to turn it into a full book. The book isn’t Naturist Fiction. However, the human psyche or soul is completely bared. I am currently writing Chapter Seven, and I am intrigued with what is appearing. This is definitely something different.

It’s sunny out and -1 Celsius. I just came back from a morning walk of just over four kilometres and plan on another walk of about six kilometres later this afternoon, the second walk being out into the countryside. I have to wear ice cleats on my boots while walking around town, but not when I venture into the countryside. At my age, the last thing I need to do is to fall on the ice and break something. The next ten days promises more of this warm weather.

Changing topics, I have returned to a book I started about six months ago. I have some time while a few beta readers peruse the story about aliens involving themselves in the political landscape of Canada. My new/old story is about a psychotherapist [original? not!] named Bruce. The story is going to be a Jungian Romance. Somehow or other, the story has begun to weave in elements of Turkish mythology. Why? Well, I have to blame it on a series I have been watching called The Gift, which is set in Turkey and has a mythological framework for a modern world tale.

A number of days ago, when I began to weave in the references to Turkish gods and goddesses, I received a notice that a Turkish poet from Istanbul had followed me. Sounds like synchronicity to me. Now, a bit more about the new/old novel. It is about the psychological idea of anima – eros and libido. Earlier today, I found the quote that I will use to introduce the story on the copyright page:

“Anima … is the great illusionist, the seductress, who draws him into life … she is his greatest danger, she demands from a man his greatest, and if he has it in him, she will receive it.”Carl Jung, Collected Works, volume 9ii

Now, just imagine how that will play out for the main character. It will be a messy affair indeed.

It’s a sunny day and it is somewhat warm at -6 Celsius. It was a perfect time to go for a walk in the countryside before the roads turn muddy. Naturally, I wore light winter wear for the hike. Walking through the edges of town to a point just three kilometres distant on a somewhat busy country road is not a naturist activity. Should I have dared such a feat, it would have been purely exhibitionist. And that isn’t something that I am interested in trying out. I prefer to save my naturist hiking for the countryside where there is very, very little chance of being seen. Today, I saved my outdoor nude time for my backyard once I was done.

One of my readers, Ken Sunwalker recently wrote to me:

“I’ve freehiked for nearly 20 years and love it! I help lead a freehiking group in Arizona with my wife. Recently I started a blog about freehiking to share my thoughts, videos, and photos, and those of others, at: https://hikingfree139095748.wordpress.com.”

I have been aware of Ken’s blog site for a number of years and personally know two naturists who have taken part in some of these free-hiking adventures with Ken. For Canadians [well most Canadians] heading to the USA to do some free-hiking is more of a dreaming activity during this time of a Covid19 pandemic that has closed the border between our two countries. Regardless, where there is a will and a disregard for regulations, there will be a way to make it to Ken’s place and join him and his crew.

However, for me, it is all about waiting for warm weather, sunny skies, and the peaceful prairie hills not too distant from my home. Happy hiking regardless of your state of dress.

It’s Sunday morning and the weather is pleasant with a bit of sunshine, a breeze of 14km/h, and a temperature of -9. For the first time in a month, I felt like going outside for another photo which I bring to you here. Obviously, I could have taken a few extra moments to have my hair tidy, but it just didn’t seem all that important. Sometimes it doesn’t matter if one lets one’s hair down and allows for a less-than-perfect presentation. After all, who really cares? It’s not like I need to make a good impression as far as my appearance is concerned. I am not looking to capture someone’s attention in order to perhaps have a relationship. I mean, who would ever be interested in a 71 year old man living in a northern climate, especially one who is introverted and not the most attentive to social conventions?

My photos are a record, a personal record that portrays my presence on the planet without camouflage. Through the process of taking these photos on a regular basis, I am confronted with the reality of my body. Over time, that reality becomes accepted. There is no way for me to be taller, younger, dark-haired, or more attractive – whatever that might mean. This is who I am and I better get used to it. There are things that I have learned in the process. Eating properly and getting some exercise are first on the list. This is the only body I have, so I may as well take care of it so that I can enjoy to best degree possible, the years that remain to me.

There is one benefit that comes with living during a pandemic for either an extrovert or an introvert – time alone. Continuing on with my look at Who Am I, Really? which I began in the last post, I found: “… being alone. Interesting things happen to me when I’m by myself. Or rather they happen in me; I just listen. Things also happen in me when I’m with other people, only I don’t hear them as well because of the noise.” [Daryl Sharp, Who Am I Really, p. 16]

So, what happens within oneself when one just listens? The first thought that comes to mind, born out of years of experience with meditation is monkey mind. The chatter is enough to drive one crazy until one learns to stop listening to the chatter of one’s mind that is trying to distract the ego from hearing from one’s depths. Whoever one is, it is there in the depths, buried under every conceivable mask, mirror, and distraction.

Beneath all the noise, I catch glimpses of a Robert that isn’t a retired educator or a quasi-shaman elder. That Robert is more of a presence than a being … ageless. Okay, so how does this help me or you know who we really are? Honestly? Perhaps it can only tell us what we aren’t. I was a teacher in a public school system. I am not that person anymore – or I should say that I am no longer defined and hidden behind that persona, that role. The same goes for you. Each of the roles, each of the persona that we discover, experience and let go teach us something about our nature, positive or negative.

I want to return to something else that Daryl Sharp wrote: “… the general understanding of personality is too superficial. What you see is not all you get. What you see is persona. What’s behind that – our shadow, things about ourselves we don’t know or wouldn’t show to others even if we did – is anybody’s guess.” [p.27]

When you think about it, getting nude is only the beginning. Daring to look deeper without self-serving filters to learn that we are a complex, swirling collection of good and evil, of saint and sinner – that is the ego-deflating risk that needs to be taken of we are ever to really know oneself.

One of the hardest things to do is to look at ourselves and accept what we see. There is a protective lens that is activated when we look in the mirror. For most of us, there is only so much truth that can be processed at one time. Even when we stand naked in front of the mirror, the lens kicks in. For whatever reason, we want to have a positive experience of what we see, a reason which then results in “not-seeing” who is really staring back at us. 

In most of my books, I always include the following quote from James Hollis, a Jungian analyst and author: “whatever reality may be, it will to some extent be shaped by the lens through which we see it”. – James Hollis, Jungian Analyst, The Middle Passage, 1993.

The lens we use is one that is individually constructed by ourselves in response to life. So many little micro events, and more significant events have us respond in ways that subtly shift our perception of the world around us, as well as our own selves. No one escapes growing up and growing older without creating a unique lens which determines how we see ourselves, others and the world around us.

It takes a midlife crisis, more often than not, to begin questioning everything, especially the stranger that is looking back at us in the mirror. There is a small book by Daryl Sharp, a Canadian Jungian analyst who was an old friend of mine who passed not so long ago [an indicator that I, too, and getting old] called “Who Am I, Really?” that comes to mind as I write this post. In the book, Sharp writes:

“You see, we hate what we are, we reject what we need. In frustration, we lash out at those we love. Behind all that, the very root of it all, is that we don’t know how to deal with the opposites.”Who Am I, Really? Daryl Sharp, p.10

So many of us don’t like what and who we see. As a result, we invest in all sorts of disguises and filters to hide the truth. Clothing, makeup, plastic surgery, drugs, booze, extreme exercise regimes, legal and illegal drugs are used to excess in hopes that we can make the image in the mirror transform into a better version. We see a stranger in the mirror and we fear strangers. If we are lucky, we end up in a crisis where we are forced to do something different, to rethink and re-see who we are.

Naturism was for me, the response when a crisis whacked me over the head. I retreated into a wooded area, slipped out of my clothing and cried. That was more than fifty years ago. Since then, I found escape from the wounds that continued to come my way by retreating from the sources of wounding to embrace the healing of naturism, especially with the presence of warm sunlight.

Shedding my clothing allowed me to finally find peace, first with my body and eventually with the “me” the “I” that I was discovering. I still don’t fully know who I am though I have a good idea. I have become more or less, at peace with myself. And naturism was a significant part of that.

Body acceptance is vital. Aging teaches us so much. I look forward to your comments.

I sometimes find myself looking into one or more of our closets with absolutely no thought of what I am hoping to find. Obviously, I won’t be finding any skeletons in the closet. Well, not literal skeletons. However, I usually find items that have been abandoned for years. When I opened this closet door, my eyes were drawn to a chess game in a tattered box that has sat unused for a few years.

I stared at the box and somehow didn’t take in anything else that may have been sitting on the same shelf. I have played chess using this set, with almost every member of my family with the exception of the two youngest grandchildren. Now, I play online chess. The memories of games won and lost, and games thrown so that beginning chess players get the occasional taste of victory, flit through my head, pleasant memories.

But not everything we bury in our closets give rise to pleasant memories. We do bury psychological skeletons in our closets, those things that wait to be purged. Yet, how often do we find ourselves resisting opening the door to the closet. There are ghosts of the past, those things that lurk, waiting to again inflict trauma on the psyche. We see the closet door and dread opening it. And if we dare open it, it is with a thin veneer of fear that has us rush to grasp whatever it is that we need from the closet.

Much to our discomfort, the good stuff is stored in the same closet as those dark and dangerous things that haunt us when we are sleeping. Too often, we refuse to open the closet door, even to get to the good stuff. We give in to our fear of the dark shadows lurking in the closet. We are faced with a choice, go without the good stuff, or risk another nerve-shattering encounter with the shades and skeletons.

This is what psychotherapy is all about, taking those risks. The difference between self-psychotherapy and other therapies is the presence of a guide. It is so much easier to open the closet door when we know that there is someone beside us, someone who has done battles against these very demons and has emerged whole.

If you find yourself, hesitating and growing more and more lifeless, less and less animated, consider reaching out.

As I write up today’s post, like every other time, I am naked. For the most part, that is my normal state. A short while ago, I went for a walk with my wife around town. It was sunny, breezy and -29 Celsius. The breeze made it feel like it was -41 Celsius. My wife and I went for our walk around the town. Obviously, we were dressed to the max in order to survive the walk. The idea is to get some fresh air and exercise, not to expose the body to undo stress and risk freezing the anatomy.

Earlier, we both exercised in the basement where we have an elliptical walking machine and a Nordic Trak ski machine. I typically use the ski machine. Twenty minutes of effort leaves me coated in a sheen of sweat, even though I don’t wear an exercise outfit. The basement is kept a comfortable +12 to +15 Celsius for exercising. Upstairs on the main level, the temperature is kept at 19 Celsius, just perfect for my writing life.

As for my writing life, I am now on Chapter 16 with more than 38,000 words written. The Romance in a Nudist Colony anthology which I have just published for editors Ted Bun and Will Forest, has already sold fifteen paperback copies and pre-sold twenty-seven eBooks books. The eBook gets released on February 14th, Valentine’s Day. There are 18 short stories on being naked and being in love. But enough of that for now.

Life in a deep freeze continues here on the Canadian prairies. As usual, I resort to soaking in as many of the sun’s rays as I can during the day. It’s a thing with me. If I can’t be outside, I bring as much as I can of the outer world into my space as I can. Sunshine coming through the windows is free, and it is warming. Luckily, my favourite winter writing spot has a large picture window which allows light to flood in to warm the air even though it is -36 Celsius outside with a feels-like temperature of -46C.

As far as my writing is going, the story is now 35,000 words long. It’s going to be my longest work to date just to tell this opening story. There is no question that another book or two will be needed to complete the tale – or even more than that. With that said, here is a peak at a segment from Chapter 13. Just a side note: Rita is an indigenous human while the other characters in the segment are Azulians, aliens from a very distant planet who look like humans.

~

Rita travelled with Dev to La Ronge for the August long weekend. It was the third time she had made this trip as they had also been to the cabin for the May long weekend and Canada Day. She had also gone to Sophie’s place in the city of Prince Albert several times for Sophie’s spontaneous parties. The stays at the cabin were always with a much smaller group with just Ashley, Madison, Sophie, Jorey, Dev, and two men who never went to Sophie’s house in Prince Albert, Camsell and Huntley.

Rita noticed that the group was close, very close. It was obvious that they had a history, one that didn’t fit the stories being told when other people were in the picture. She didn’t pry as she didn’t want to find herself outside of the circle. She realised that she could have been mistaken about Madison, Jorey and Ashley, that it might simply be their personalities that neatly fit in with Dev and Sophie who had a relationship as friends dating back years. And try as she might, she never did find out much about the two men.

The cabin belonged to Sophie. It was predictably large, but nowhere near as large as the mansion back in the city. Though Sophie was European, she didn’t push her preference for nudity when swimming in the lake during the daytime. However, night-time skinny dipping was the norm when weather permitted. Otherwise, the basement level with its hot tub and sauna was their clothing-free zone.

“You’re adapting well to being nude,” Sophie remarked. “I was surprised at how well you are handling it.”

“Skinny dipping is not just a European thing,” Rita replied. “The women in my home community have no issue with being naked by the river or the lake, when the men are not around. Of course, nudity indoors is not a thing.”

The talk around nudity was rare, and only initiated by Sophie when it did happen. Realising that, Rita then reconsidered her thoughts of the whole group having a long history together. Most of the time, the conversation focused on the political scene or the growing social dissatisfaction that had been responsible for so many protests and conspiracy theories. There was even a conspiracy that blamed the current problems on aliens from outer space.

“No one takes them seriously,” Ashley said, with a laugh. “Those are the people who wear aluminum foil on their heads to prevent aliens or foreign technology from tampering with their thoughts.”

Others, like myself who choose to see themselves beneath their clothing, are risking so much with the acts of disrobing and being naked. Are we really being ourselves? It is as if we have set aside the filters that have been coded into our lives as we grew up into adulthood. Many are in search of self. How often do we hear grown adults state that they need time to find themselves? Typically, that search for self is a journey that only leads further and further from the intended destination of self-discovery. As well, we often find ourselves on the outs with the larger society for what we discover about ourselves.

Over the years, as I have studied and worked with human psychology, I have come to realise that most people really don’t want to do the work of self-discovery, regardless of their claims otherwise. Most people simply want to be fixed so that they fit better with the social world around them. They want to think, feel, want, and do only those things that will allow them to be more accepted, perhaps even loved. Yet, every so often, that isn’t enough. For these people in the minority, and they are a minority, the imperative “Know Thyself!” becomes a quest. That journey begins with self-disclosure. becoming transparent to the self and to others.

“Through my self-disclosure, I let others know my soul. They can know it, really know it, only as I make it known. In fact, I am beginning to suspect that I can’t even know my own soul except as I disclose it. I suspect that I will know myself “for real” at the exact moment that I have succeeded in making it known through my disclosure to another person.”Sidney M. Jourard, The Transparent Self, p. 10

Jourard talks about self-disclosure from a psychological perspective. That psychological journey is also a social journey if it is to be authentic. At the present time, in the midst of a global pandemic which has so many of us sticking within the confines of our individual lodgings, the opportunity to let others see/know/feel the truth of our individual souls is problematic. Thankfully, there is a cyber world where we can virtually be present with others. That cyber world allows for us to be seen and heard. What we disclose in this cyber world doesn’t allow for full disclosure as the conveyance of feeling is very, very weak.

When one removes one’s clothing and risks being seen as imperfect beings, there is an honesty that words can never match for words can easy become masks behind which we hide, just as we hide behind our clothing, or the roles we live in the world. However, images are only as honest as we allow them to be. For example, How does one disclose an underlying fear or emotion or belief that we don’t want revealed? In my case, in the face-to-face world, I smile. I adopt an equanimous state that masks self-doubt. In the case of Robin Williams, a mask of laughter hid a deep sadness that eventually resulted in his self-destruction.

It is only with the passage of time, that one gets to know another well enough to risk disclosing more of oneself. And it is only with this passage of time and taking these risks that one discovers more and more about oneself. It’s a catch 22 situation which few people hesitate to enter into. Getting naked in front of others is easier than risking authentic self-disclosure. And so here, I find myself wondering about nude images of self as authentic self-disclosure versus nude images of self as yet another mask behind which the true self remains hidden. And, I now invite you to share your thoughts about the naked self and self-disclosure.