“You have to make your own world, instead of succumbing to the one that presses on you.” [Moore, Dark Nights of the Soul, p. 108]
My entering into the trees and removing my clothing was a deliberate
act of making my own world, a private world in which I could feel the
sun, feel freedom; a place that was private outside of my skin. That
moment in time wasn’t my first experience with nudity, but it was the
first private, intentional experience with nudity.
For many years while I was involved with my career as teacher,
principal and counsellor, and busy with raising a family; occasions of
nudity were infrequent, more like stolen moments. I had forgotten about
my naturist sanctuary world. All that remained was the unconscious pull
that resulted in being denied. I wanted to be normal as much as
possible, for the world to see me as an ordinary man, not a wounded man
with an abnormal passion to strip off my clothing and dance in the
sunshine like some pagan out of the distant past.
The thing with all those things which we deny and push down and bury
in inner darkness; these things have a way of seeping out into our lives
when we least expect them and disturbing us. So it was and is for me.
Whether it came to light while wearing shorts without briefs, or dreams;
I would often find myself embarrassed, even though no one seemed to
notice, and in that embarrassment, I would double my efforts to hide my
body. The compulsion to nudity got turned around to become a compulsion
to being clothed, to again hide.
Time has a way of having us return again and again to our denied
shadow stuff. Having an existential midlife crisis is one of those times
when it seems to all come rushing out to confront the ego. to challenge
the status quo of our lives. I am no different than anyone else in this
respect. The compulsion to be nude snuck out of the Pandora’s box in
which it was hidden, chained and locked. Without consciously realising
it, I found myself shucking off my shorts and top on isolated sections
of beaches while with my wife and children. Nudity in the house began to
be just a bit more than while sleeping and in the shower or bathtub. I
was uncomfortable with what was happening, seemingly beyond my
intentions and tried again, pushing it back. But a compulsion is not to
be so easily denied.
On the way to another midlife crisis, I found myself unclothed,
always in a quiet place, almost always alone. I would lay in the
sunshine beside a villa in Mexico, within a courtyard in Costa Rica, in a
garden in Belize, or while walking in saltwater lagoons. A return to
meditation after an absence of almost thirty years found me meditating
in the nude. At some point along the way, I admitted to myself that this
was the way it was. I had to admit to myself that I was very different.
That admission opened the Pandora’s box even further. I didn’t yet
realise why I was this way – the past and the abuse was still locked up
tight. I just assumed it was a defect in my character that I couldn’t
avoid living. I admitted it to myself and then worked hard to make sure
that no one else would ever know about this. Yes, I can already hear
your snickering.
Compulsions are so easily contained, so it was only a matter of time
before it all came spilling out. But that, will have to wait for another
post. In the mean time, you might want to read a few interesting
articles on the compulsion to being nude, to being naked. Two blog posts
by an author identified as “nudiarist”: The Compulsion to be Nude and the Compulsion to be Nude Part Two are good places to start. And, here is another article from Yahoo News.
Posted on skycladtherapist.wordpress.com and reposted on www.nudiststop.com
Posted on skycladtherapist.wordpress.com and reposted on www.nudiststop.com
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