Through a Naturist Lens

Life is good, too good to waste many hours of feeling upset and angry with the world. My morning meditation is one of the vital rituals that allow me to find perspective, to realise that anger, sadness, fear, and almost all other mental state are for the most part, creations of my own mind. When the weather and other conditions are ripe, I meditate outdoors. When the weather is not nice, such as it is this morning, I meditate in my computer room as seen above. Of course I used to be fully controlled by my emotions and reactions to life, making myself into a victim of my own shadow. I need to remember that lesson learned, especially as I work with others in my counselling practice.

Now, many are probably wondering if I actually offer psychotherapy “skyclad.” The answer is “No!” I focus on the client and their needs. I become an active listener and probe as together we “uncover” and “lay bare” the wounds that have brought them to my office. It’s a long process that has them strip away accumulated barriers and defence systems that are now getting in the way of their healing. We peel away layers of pain, exposing the rawness that needs the healing air of awareness. I guess you could say that it becomes a psychological skyclad experience.

Almost always, the laying bare of the psyche is all about the client. However, since I have published my story and having it become a best-seller in my community, my clients probably know more about me than the profession would deem healthy. Yet what do I say when a new client comes for help when they found the courage to do so because they had read my story and deduced that if I could make it through the darkness, then maybe there is help for them to do the same from someone who has been there? I accept them as clients and turn the spotlight upon them, to bring light into their lives.

It has taken a long time to find peace in myself. The doubts have been replaced with confidence. Yet, when it comes time to post a photo, the confidence seems to wither a bit. I find myself doing some judicious cropping so as to not offend any of my readers. The photos then offer some evidence that I am truly skyclad, that it isn’t all talk without the action to affirm the words. I guess I am still telling the truth and illustrating that truth in images. But, something insidious is happening below the surface. I find myself undermining my own words.

In an attempt to appease some unknown reader, I censored myself and presented what is now being called “Facebook Friendly” images. And, I am not the only one. Besides the strategy of “cropping” images to remove “offending” butt creases and genitals, we use judicious placement of hands and arms, or more creatively, photo-edited stickies to cover nipples, butts and genitals.

I went back through my archive here and used judicious cropping or replaced the potentially offending images. All of the strategies are used to have “somewhat safe” images to appease the angry presences that want us gone from all social media. I say somewhat because where complete nudity is evident in spite of following the rules, images get reported and removed because someone was still “offended.” The more we appease, the less satisfied are those who have made a mission to hide any suggestion, let alone visible proofs, that we are sexual beings. And in the process, we find our rights to be “authentic” disappear beneath the waves of outrage.

We retreat in fear behind closed doors, behind drawn curtains, and even then we keep a wrap or cover-up handy just in case it is needed. We become prisoners in our homes. If we become a bit less fearful we build high walls, privacy fences, so that we can dare to be outside when the weather permits.

However, for many, the right to be bare only comes within the confines of a gated area with strict rules to keep naturists inside and everyone else outside; or, within the permitted resorts that cater to nakations. This isn’t to say that resorts and other naturist options are not appreciated and valued; however, there is a difference in being hidden away, and choosing a secluded place for a needed retreat from noise and too much interaction.

We appease and then wonder why those whom we appease aren’t more willing to give as well as receive. We somehow are shocked that instead of easing up, the “reaction” focuses on increasing restrictions and out-right banning of nudity. A policy of appeasement doesn’t work. It has never worked in the preludes to wars and other bloody conflicts or in negotiations of most economic endeavours. Giving others power has the effect of having them want even more power.

There is a need for any and all who value personal authority for “self” to reclaim that authority from the “others” who have their own personal agendas. What do you value about yourself, your planet and your relationship to the world?

I will return to continue this theme of reclaiming the “Self.”

There is nothing better than being warm in the winter. With that said, before our return from Mexico we were unable to use the garden-patio area for a while as there was a major project in progress with workers busy in that space.

It was a project that was planned to be finished before we arrived, but realistically won’t be finished for another week or two. Still, there is nothing to complain about as it is warm and I don’t have to wear clothing while in our studio. Yet, there were also times when workers weren’t there, perfect morning moments for coffee in the garden

Puerto Morelos has now become a city, or probably more accurately, a municipal district which includes the area and settlements (tourist and native) between the Cancun municipality and the Playa del Carmen municipality. A big celebration happened here yesterday evening including fireworks to mark the occasion.

Today, the street in front of our house in Puerto Morelos, which could rival potholed streets in prairie communities, saw the crews out to begin the process of tearing up the old and giving us a new, paved street. Progress. Change.

For the first six weeks in Mexico this year, I have not been doing sitting meditation. It seemed that every time I sat down my head would race to wander through the story I am busy writing. It became so frustrating to find the next word or sentence popping up in my head which then sent me back to the computer before those words could be lost. I have tried simply letting those words sit quietly in my head to wait for meditation to end, but they only ended up getting lost and then having me get angry about losing those words.

As a result, I turned to walking meditation. As in sitting meditation, it was all about the breath, feeling the inspiration and exhalation of each breath. Walking used up the energy that grew out of that attention to breathing. Between the walking and the breathing, I was able to tame my mind so that I could simply be in the sunshine attentive to the environment of sun, sand, and sea without needing to make mental judgements.

Now that the first draft has been completed and I now have the beginning, the body and the ending of the story in place, I am returning to sitting meditation which I can do skyclad. By necessity of environment, walking meditation had me wear a bathing suit, the least I could wear. There are six weeks remaining before I head home to Canada, plenty of time to regain the habit of sitting meditation au naturel, plenty of time to complete the book’s rewrite.

Each day, weather permitting, which is about nine days out of ten, my wife and I stroll the beach for about four and a half kilometres in each direction before heading into the sea to cool off. Of course, I have to wear a swimsuit during our walks. It is what it is.

Once the walk is done, then it’s into the sea where the suit becomes an arm band much like the tattoos of barbed wire that many younger people now wear. Of course, I keep some distance from other swimmers so that there isn’t an indignant response in spite of the fact that all is out of sight beneath the waves. Seeing the bathing suit on my arm is a declaration of freedom, even if that freedom is carefully disguised by the sea. It’s the principle that counts.

I get confused, to say the least, by the responses to my near nudity on the beach as we pass resorts filled with “cool” and “privileged” guests. I wonder why they cover up so much, even to the point of wearing a cover-up while moving from gardens to seaside, sometimes even struggling the wrap when taking their places on the lounge chairs lined up beneath palapas. I also wonder why so many women wear full bathing suits rather than take a minimalist approach. On the average, about six out of ten women we pass avoid bikinis, even the more discrete versions. Even then, there is a tendency to wear some sort of wrap that hides nothing, as though they are protecting their modesty.

As for the guys, they strut with arms held slightly apart from their bodies as if they have just finished lifting weights while dressed in board shorts that do anything but flatter their attempts at being macho. It’s hard to be a hunk when the gut bulges out like a woman preparing to deliver twins. In their attempts to look cool, the can of beer in the hand with a ball cap worn backwards thus not offering the eyes any protection from the sun, completes the nod to fashion.

When will people stop being afraid of human bodies? When will they stop being the slaves of a fashion industry that works overtime to tell them that they are imperfect unless they get the latest styles, a look that is passé the moment they become available at the local shops in their cities. It is always a merciless race to be worthy in the eye of the critical public. No wonder they are aghast seeing my wife and I, two seniors in their sixties, not give a shit about fashion, just simply wearing as little as possible and feeling free in the process. It’s good to like who you are and the body you come wrapped up in.

I am writing at a good pace, the final book of my Broken Road series. In this book I give a prominent place to naturist as a path for psychological transformation to better mental health. So far, more than 50,000 words are committed to the first draft.

As I write each chapter, I send a copy to my wife to read so that I can confirm that what I intended to say is actually said, and said in a manner that does no harm to others in the process. After all, the book is my story and has no authority to tell the stories of others. I sense that the story is rushing towards a completion in the not-too-distant-future. And, as with all of my writing, it will sit still for a bit before I return to it from cover-to-cover in order to make corrections, additions, and deletions so that the tale is ready to share with others, before I dare publish it.

This book needs that extra care and attention because it tells all in my world about my being a naturist, the why and the how of it all. Some are aware because they read my blog posts, or have seen my Naked Poetry books; yet, most in my extended family and community are unaware of my naturism. So, in a way, there is a risk that is waiting to be taken when I bring the book out from the confines of the computer into the real world.

Growing older can reward a person with peace and well being in spite of the effects of time on the body. There is no doubt that I don’t have the buff, fit body that I had when still in my forties while I was still running marathons. Twenty extra pounds later, I find that I am satisfied that time has not done more damage to my body. I know that I could lose a bit of weight and likely feel better, but there is no rush. Rather than weight, I have refocused my eating habits while keeping up with activity by walking a minimum of eight kilometres a day.

When the walk is done, I have time for sunbathing, a deliberate choice when the sun is cooperative for it is the sun baking my body that clears out the old ghosts and shadows that used to rule my life. And, on most days, I take the time to write my story. I write for myself and learn as I write about myself. Time, with the aid of photographs and a decent grasp of depth psychology principles allow me to understand what happened to me on the journey back to better mental health. Like most who enter the field of mental health counselling, I had a history of my own to cope with. Doing the work to heal, I learned how to be a better guide to assist in the healing process for others.

We all go through life carrying wounds that came with growing out of childhood into adulthood.  Some have wounds that nag in the background, and others are crippled by their wounds. Regardless of the severity of our wounds, it is our response to those wounds that allow us to either ignore them for the most part, or get help in order to mentally, and sometimes physically survive.

I have survived my wounds through a variety of methods with naturism taking a prominent role in that journey. I have learned that I can be gentle with myself as the seventh decade of my life approaches. No one expects me to look and act like a young, virile man so that pressure is off the table. That allows me now to smile a lot more with honest smiles. Learning how to be more gentle with myself has given me the gift of being more gentle with others. Perhaps this is what is meant by entering one’s “golden years.”

It’s another cloudy day though we did have a short break with sunshine. Those bits and pieces of light help keep my mood and spirits up. I have been reading on body image in quite a few places in social media, articles which are a backlash against being told how people should look. Yet at the same time as there is protest, more people are invested in the models of perfection that are being promoted.

Diet books are best sellers, fitness gyms and personal trainers are crammed into busy lives, and fashion is followed more rigorously than any religious creed. The foundational belief is that who we are and the bodies we have are in dire need of salvation. For those that don’t measure up, don’t become fundamentalists for the new human, there is only scorn and derision.

I have heard, and have heard of others who constantly criticize that “so and so is a waste of fresh air,” or “she has no choice but to be a nice person with that body.” Men are ridiculed for wearing brief bathing suits, especially if they are older men or don’t have “abs of steel.” We hear “there should be laws against bodies like that” when men and women who are neither young nor firm. This is especially true when these imperfect bodies of men and women are naked or even scantily clothed. “A woman her size should never wear a bikini.” It isn’t the nudity that is vilified as we have no issues with nudity of sweet, young things; physically fit younger men, or bodies that seem to invite us into intimate relationship.

Regardless of what others say about the human body, we are the harshest critics of our own body. We just can’t seem to see ourselves without the filters given to us by media, by our peers, and by “people that matter.” As a result, it often takes humans decades to give up on the myth of having a perfect body. At that point we either say “to hell with what others think” and dare to be real people in real bodies; or, we cloak ourselves in multi-layers and become personalities.

It is Friday and I’m already limiting my exposure to sunshine. The last thing I want to do is burn and I hate using sunscreen all the time. And no, I don’t spend all of my time indoors looking out as in this photo. The photo is to serve a different purpose.

I am lucky in comparison to so many who are trapped in their workspaces and living spaces by the weather. I remember looking out on sunny winter days when the temperature was harsh, longing for a bit of freedom to escape au naturel into the world.

At least I was clothing free in my home. The same can’t be said for so many who are trapped in their clothing, trapped by their minds that have embraced fear, or false norms of what it is to be a human. Some are so imprisoned that they even hide from themselves, denying themselves as though that would somehow grant them entry into some afterworld of pure light where everyone who makes it is swaddled in layers and layers of robes singing the praises of a god who has condemned most of humanity to eternal suffering. So, they practice being sexless, subservient denying the gift of their mind and their body and their gender and their instincts.

If one assumes there is a god, then that god created these human bodies, naked. He or she created bodies and minds and instincts. We have a story of that creation and in that story we are celebrated in our nudity. Our rejection of that nudity got us tossed out of that Garden, a paradise. So we created a different paradise based on our initial rejection of the Garden, a paradise where there is no way to differentiate gender, no temptation of body, no temptation by environment – we have a featureless paradise that is more cocoon that reward for living a good life. And then we redefine a good life to be one that is lived in fear and swallowed pride and anger where “self” is denied, where the “present” is denied.

And so we hide feeling empty, longing for freedom yet terrified that to engage fully in the world will damn us for eternity. We fear our god, we fear, we cower, we hide.

We are finally warm again. We arrived in Puerto Morelos yesterday just as the afternoon was edging into evening. No sooner had we dropped off our minuscule bit of luggage, we found ourselves walking a few blocks towards the centre of the town to eat out at a place called La Sirena with our landlady. We enjoyed a good meal on the second floor patio restaurant then headed back to our small home away from home. We were tired and knew we wouldn’t be staying awake too late – just time for wine and relaxation before crawling into our bed for a great night’s sleep.

There’s something to be said for returning to the same place when heading to a tropical destination to escape the cold winds and temperatures of winter. Foremost among the benefits is the fact that there is basically no adjustment period. Familiarity has one soon following habits and patterns already cultivated in that new environment. We knew that there would be the weekly farmers market this morning, just as we knew where to find that farmers market. Now, our refrigerator is stocked with fresh fruits and vegetables.

After shopping, we headed out for a two hour stroll down the beach. We decided to walk our usual eight kilometres – four out and four back – a stroll that took us past various resorts including Pearl Desire, a nudist resort with a clothing-optional beach. Strangely, few people on the beach or on the lounge chairs were nude. Most were discretely covered, a contrast from the past several years we have been making this stroll. I wonder what has changed?

Before heading back to our studio suite, we went into the Sea for another half of an hour. Initially the water was cold, but we soon adjusted to the temperature as I relished being bathing suit free once I was in chest deep water. Even though we were in the public sector of the beach, once in the water, I always remove the swimsuit and use it as a wristband. Finally, hunger drove us to return to the suite and make a vegetable stir fry. Now, it is relaxation time before we head into the centre of town for a community celebration. I am lucky in that I can spend most of this relaxation time in my birthday suit.