Going Forward Skyclad

Taking a rare opportunity in early November for being skyclad outdoors on the prairies.

Taking a rare opportunity in early November for being skyclad outdoors on the prairies.

November has given me a fair number of gloomy and grey days, perfect weather for inspiring me to stick to my office and do what needs to be done. It helps that the past two months off had meant that I had to end working with clients. I don’t know when I will make myself available for clients who are seeking mental heath therapy as it isn’t very long before I head out of home for a three-month stint in Mexico. It just isn’t fair to them or to me as therapist. With that decision made, my time in my office is about research, writing, and reconsidering just what the future holds for me as a professional therapist.

On a different theme, the cool, dark and often damp weather has meant reduced outdoor time, especially clothing-free outdoor time. My office however is a place where clothing is shed when I don’t have clients within it. The weather, as well as the absence of clients who need a sense of “familiar” in the safe container of counselling, is having me plan changes to the office. Change, it’s all about change. I have come to the realisation that I have returned from the Camino a changed person. Yet, I am unsure just what has changed and how it will manifest in my life going forward. What I do know is that being skyclad remains an essential part of who I am.

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Shifting Safe Spaces

Protecting privacy or staying out of sight?

Protecting privacy or staying out of sight?

This is the door to my office/workspace. I always keep it closed when I have a client within as I want them to feel that what is said is private, very private. The closed door makes the room a safe, sacred space. I am typically dressed to reflect the position of therapist – dark pants and a loose sweater that is attractive. I avoid the formal look that was my habit when I was an administrator in the school system.

When there isn’t a client in the room the door is kept open. The room becomes a part of the whole that is our home. Within the room I am usually found writing or working with my photos. Almost always, I am nude in the room. It has been this way for a fair number of years. Even my neighbours are aware of my ‘working attire’ when I write.

Yet now, it has changed. Not the writing nude, but the position of the door. I agreed, for the sake of my wife’s comfort level, to keep the door closed and to make sure that when I leave the room I do so wearing clothing – just in case. The closed door now creates a safe, sacred space for her outside of my room. Strange.

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NaNoWriMo 2015 and Movember

The beard and moustache are gone, gone, gone.

The beard and moustache are gone, gone, gone.

It’s November first and I have decided to once again go clean shaven for a day so that I can take part in Movember along with my son and other family members. Yes, the ‘stache is gone as is the beard. The evidence is right before your eyes.

As well as Movember, the day is the start of NaNoWriMo 2015. I have once again entered into the event with the idea of restarting from the beginning, the stalled part three of the Healing Skyclad series.

I am including the opening of the latest book here before I return to writing more of the story. Word count so far is 1831.


Two Birds in a Hurricane

Book 3 in the Healing Skyclad series

Chapter One

Following the renewal of relationship with my wife, life became a matter of living fully in the present tense. There was no past. I had left the past in Ottawa. I left Ottawa at the urging of my father to escape the black hole that had consumed him destroying his dreams. He urged me to flee Ottawa and the past, to return to the young woman with whom I had fallen in love. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. It was a rare event in my life, to have my father step outside of himself to see me as having dreams and a future. Given his blessing, I was able to walk away from the nightmare of the first twenty-one years of my life. As I saw it as I stepped off the train in Watrous, Saskatchewan, there was no past.

As a young man of twenty-one walking into the arms of a beautiful young woman, it wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision to abandon the past. Rather, it was a natural movement to embracing a new way of being, one that was charged with physical attraction and what could only be described as an alter reality, a place and time where a new self emerges.


Benjamin sat beside Marynia as they drove from the train station to the family farm. He looked at her with hope, wanting to believe that this was the woman he was going to marry, the woman with whom he would live for the rest of his life. Yet, hidden in his luggage was a passport that he had received only a week earlier, his escape ticket if somehow she discovered his dark past and sent him packing.

They weren’t strangers to each other, yet somehow, seeing Marynia beside him in the car, Benjamin sensed she was a bit different from the way he knew her earlier in the fall when they had lived together in Vancouver. She was more confident, more grounded. She belonged and that was something Benjamin had never experienced in his own life. How would he be able to fit in?


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Thinking Au Naturel In Paris

The Thinker - Thinking in Paris.

The Thinker – Thinking in Paris.

We’ve been in Paris for almost a day and it’s time to plan our sightseeing agenda for the day. Yes, the Musée Rodin is on the list as is La Tour Eiffel. We’ve been in Paris a fair number of times and so all of our stops will likely be repeats, well at least for the most part. There will be moments of discovery as we wander down streets not on the typical guided tour. I follow gut feeling, not a scripted guide book. It makes for interesting discoveries.

This is the first time in Paris without our children, well that is if we don’t count the hours between plane and train in August. There is no promise of sunshine or warm temperatures, so wearing clothing becomes a sensible choice versus a societal choice. At least the hotel room is warm and private. Now, it’s time to have breakfast before dressing and heading out with the camera.

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Leaving Costa Natura

Costa Natura

Costa Natura

In an hour from now we will be leaving Costa Natura in order to go to Málaga where we have booked a room for the night. We fly out of Málaga tomorrow morning for Paris. Sadly, this means there will be very little clothes free time for the foreseeable future. With the weather being overcast and raining, there is not much reason to stay longer. We are both ready to go home.

Ten days together at a naturist resort – it’s a first for us. I was surprised at how well it went considering that she is not, nor ever will be, a naturist at heart. She is so comfortable in her body without her clothes on that this truth is surprising, but that comfort only exists with complete strangers. The presence of family, friends, and people with whom we enjoy small contact makes a huge difference. It is at this point that feelings of vulnerability force a rush to clothing.

Going home happens with newboundaries, or rather old boundaries which become more binding. My nudity will be limited to my office and our living room at night when drapes are closed and the door is locked. The survival of relationship depends on this. Of course, I worry. Can I do this? The reward will be more willing participation in future naturist events as a couple. Is this enough?


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Waiting For Sunshine

Waiting for inner and outer sunshine to appear.

Waiting for inner and outer sunshine to appear.

As some who read my posts know, I have issues with depression and positive self-concept. Since rediscovering and reinvesting in naturism, there has been a decided improvement. However, naturism isn’t a cure, it is simply an honest refection of the self, one that is avoided by most for fear of what would be revealed.

Faced with the truth of our bodies, we are given a chance, a choice to be kind to the body which in the final analysis, is our only authentic possession. Humans have an urge to gather things and people which will somehow serve as a statement of worth. Designer labels, trophy memorabilia that tells others what we have done and where we have been, are presented as proofs of our worth. Rather than confront the truth about mistreating our body with gluttony and a delibating lack of fitness, we hide the body with the latest colours and fashions somehow believing that this is the only legitimate way of gathering the approval of others.

Certainly, others would hold us in the lowest esteem possible if we stand before them naked and imperfect as defined be the moguls who make billions of dollars dollars, pounds, and Euros in convincing us to hide our scars and blemishes. And if we should dare to be naked, there is a perfection template that should be adhered to – be youthful, slim, and pleasingly muscular – and even more important, provide a source of revenue for the body image industry that includes the porn industry.

BeBeing naked outside of these parameters is tolerated within gated nude communities that keep nudists out of sight of the public in what can best be described as voluntary minimum security institutions. Think of nudist resorts, ranches, campgrounds, and so on as keeping nudists locked away from the public rather than keeping the public out of these sites. Who is being protected from whom?

Yes, the edges of depression are flittering around the edges of my being in spite of my being nude outdoors. Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.

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Hidden In Plain Sight

Costa Natura by the Mediterranean Sea.

Costa Natura by the Mediterranean Sea.

To post or not to post, that is the question which rustles through my head at this time. The sun is out and has been a very close companion all day. Now in mid-afternoon, I find myself sitting partly in the shade taking a siesta pause of some sort here in the south of Spain.

But of course, the question is rhetorical as I am writing even though I am not sure what to write. The image shows where I am at this moment, off to the right side of the photo hidden from view on the pedestrian overpass I crossed on my way to buy a few more groceries. Hidden out on a patio open to all passersby who offer friendly greetings.

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