Here is Part I:
We’re camping in the White Mountains.
I wander around in the morning light. Nearby, I find a lean-to shelter has been built by industrious campers. There are two very thick old logs lying around a few old fire pits near this.
Suddenly as if déjà vu, I realize a flood of memories. This is where I stood naked 21 years ago. I was in the camp of a couple of young guys and an art student from ASU in Tempe. She had taken my body paint sticks and created a swirly colorful psychedelic pattern across my back. These flowed out of the bands of a rainbow corresponding with chakras in the front. I was dubbed “Rainbow Man.”
I stand here remembering the conversations and reactions, as I was transformed by paint. Much begins to be more familiar, here. I can now confirm that the evergreen bush, that I saw yesterday, was where I had placed my tent.
She had been swiping paint on my body. I had approached them wearing boxer shorts with a Grateful Dead logo. Her squeamish compadre winced and gasped as I dropped them to give her full access to her art project. The coquettish young man looked as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.
As she neared my genitals, the obvious question needed to be addressed. I volunteered to slap paint on the delicate matter.
The rest of the day was spent in constant expressions of joy at the Rainbow Man. Some just had to hug me, some respectfully stating that they wished that they had the guts to do present themselves in just body paint. The primary colors were a more dramatic flower scene in a green hued world. I was covered by positive expressions and the loving tidings of 10.000 good souls.
We have breakfast and a casual start on a walk about. DF will see how things go. The broken toe may stop our excursion early. We’ll see.
We needed a quick getaway from it all. We wrapped things up Friday night to hit the road Saturday morning. The idea is a cruise and a campout in the cool mountains. We felt the need to do something for the Solstice World Naked Hiking Day, even a day late.
It has been four years that this two year project has been going strong. Happy Birthday TheFreeRangeNaturist.org.
We’re gonna keep goin’…naturally.
Thanks for joining us on our adventures, for following and all the thumbs up. We hope that you are becoming more and more liberated, too.
The site first published on the 14th of July, more or less. We hope that you all get to celebrate “International Nude Day” and/or “National Nude Day” and/or the culmination of “Nude Recreation Week” this Sunday!
Jbee and DF
P.S. A two part solstice hike story in the White Mountains is coming next week.
I just took off my robe. I noticed a change in posture.
Yesterday, I was walking around the Tucson Gem and Mineral Show in my wrangler denim jeans. I had my hands in my pant’s pockets, which is a slouch.
A tight outfit, makes a body move more stiff. It limits the range of motion. These become habits when the muscles are not being used, stretched, or being exercised. A waistband can tighten a belly, squeeze it over the top as a pot belly and constrict flow. It can affect a hernia, giving false support to muscles that need to carry their own duties.
Late June 2019
The cicada are busy. They are an odd bug with a short bulbous body and longer cellophane wings. The winter rains, or the seven year itch, have brought them on in force. I’m not sure why it is that they are so active. Perhaps I tune them out during their seasonal comings and try to forget the chatter of their wings, but I’m also seeing more of them.
Today I’ll sit on the porch and listen. It will be one-hundred-something Fahrenheit by afternoon. The sun is already warm this morning, as I step out the front door. I wince at the glare from the east. It’s kind of bright when seen through sleepy morning eyes that are used to being closed.
There is the warmth all down my right side as I face north and listen. The cicada chatter. Like crickets they tend to ebb and flow. When it dies down, there is a calm.
I turn to make my way to the shady porch around the corner. I proceed along the walkway with two empty chairs and a table with a collection of ancient pottery shards. The sun feels good, as if a god is giving me a pat on the back. As I cross, the sun’s blessing becomes a massage. I enjoy the touch, but there has been plenty of heat during the last couple of weeks. This morning, for now, I’d like some cool.
The porch has its couch facing west. It presents a view into the lush desert. I sit down in its charming cradle of fluff. I cross my legs Indian fashion, I sit up comfortably, the mind stays stilled, not yet out of sleep.
The cicadas persist, more ebb and flow, more chatter to calmness. Continue reading