One of my favourite times of the day is in the early morning while I get to sit in my living room in what is mostly darkness, waiting for daylight to appear. The scene outside my window changes from a black sky with one small lamp lighting an entrance to a building to one side, a flickering light atop an antenna tower about seven kilometres away on the hills in the south, and that is about it – until the darkness begins to shift, slowly, to dawn.
I feel comfortable in darkness, but I much prefer sunshine and warm temperatures which invite me to be outside, skyclad. It wasn’t always like this. It wasn’t many years ago that I hid my need for being skyclad in sunshine. Back then, I was going crazy, slowly losing my soul. If it hadn’t been for my feeling at home in darkness, I would never have survived this long. Darkness held my sanity intact. In the darkness, no one saw or cared if I spent those hours without clothing. In darkness,
I began to spend time in darkness, awake and unclothed, when I was a teenager, and adolescent on the verge of being a man. It was the only quiet time for me in a house filled with children and strife. I had a lot to process and found being naked and listening to classical music played at very low levels in the darkness an act of healing. It was all about privacy and freedom and safety. Perhaps these early experiences taught me more than I realised.