FYI, I had computer problems that had to be fixed. Now, I severely burned the tips of two of my fingers while using a lime mortar during the glass block installation on the new sauna. They are coming along. I’m learning to type with my fingernails!
Anyway, I have a mostly finished two part trip report, which will be up this week.
Sometimes, stuff happens.
Jbee
Is common bodily modesty sexist, or even misogynistic? I’d say so. Can a woman not be truly free of patriarchy, until she is free of the traps of clothing? I’d say so.
But, who am I to speak for women? Can I really understand? Shouldn’t this be written by a woman? I think that I can speak to this because as a man, I also can’t be free, until I’m free of our societal situation. That being okay, still, I’ll extensively quote some women throughout this article, as I make my case.
Let’s look at the inside first, body shame. We are pressured into living up to unreasonable bodily ideals. From young to aging, people are subjected to fashionable impositions. It changes, but our body types won’t always agree with those changes. People starve, suffer social insecurities, and lie to themselves and others. We are told that we are flawed. We are manipulated into clothing that will make us look something other than what we are.
We are sexualized, something that has its place, but this overused imposition confines the identity to within limits, and with that, it limits personal potential. We are reduced, corralled and channeled into living life as someone else’s object. People get dressed to support that fantasy. People also dress to diminish objectification. Our other abilities, our other humanity, our inter-relationships are constantly tainted with this. People tease, fish, manipulate and game within this context. We are more than that. We can’t be equal, if we have to be so separated by sexual concerns and inhibitions.
The trap of gender roles is rampant. Dress, the uniform of conformity, plays a big part. Be it power garb, masculine superiority, a female’s place, or inequality, gender determines “who wears the pants,” a term that comes directly from this kind of culture.
Things have changed. Here’s evidence, but still, what remains?
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Just so you know…Part 24, Lake Shelbyville, was published out of sequence, by the fingers of a sleepy naked guy on a couch. Once it is done….
We’re looking for a secluded place, a spiritual experience, fewer people, certainly no crowds, solitude. I figured that it would be up here in this part of Michigan, as I remember it. It feels down right crowded today, in the height of the summer season. Things have changed. There is plenty of countryside, but it is all private lands. People are packed in otherwise.
The public lands are near. Big Bear Dunes, again as I remember, are fun and there may be a spot just south of them, down the coast of Lake Michigan, where people don’t go, much.
When I contemplate peace, I feel my oneness with all I know and beyond. There is that quiet strength that it gives me. When I see a tranquil lake, a gorgeous sunset, or a mountain stream, smell a familiar scent, or hear the wings of a passing bird, I know that.
A vista, or the array of stars will put within me awareness of my sense of the vast identity that I share, I know that strength. When I feel the air and the sun across my nude body, my feet upon the Earth the energetic or reassuring touch of another, that body knows thanks. I can feel thanks in this body, more than to just think it, or to list it in the mind. The beauty around me and within me, that which I am, is the gratitude and oneness.
Feeling peaceful, I am relaxed and calm. I glow from within and feel serenity in my soul. I breathe easier, remain positive and always feel thanks. I am mindful of my place in the universe and the difference that I make in this world. I am a spiritual being in this body, sharing my unique energy and talents.
I can travel far to grasp the magnificent experiences, or I can walk naked where I am, at any given moment, to realize my being and my peace.
There is inspiration by the beauty of creation to know calm and strength through oneness.
I am truly blessed.
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We are here in Northern Michigan after fleeing a rainstorm that arrived hours early, chasing us out of Turtle Lake Resort. This morning, we’re in a family campground and I suspect from the sound on the roof of the tent, that the Michigan forecast is wrong again. The rain due at 2pm is apparently arriving at 6:30am.
I whisper, “It might just blow over. It’s not due ‘till this afternoon.” I’m thinking from under my comfy sleeping quilt cuddled with DF. I’m tired and I want to sleep in. That sound on the tent is a drizzle, but we’ve also heard that before in Ohio and Northern Vermont. We certainly want to avoid a wet tent to pack into the tightly crammed trunk, soaking everything and maybe creating mold.
We get out and quickly, perform our well-practiced routine, tearing the camp down safely and tucking it away. All during the process, the rain intensifies. We’ll be leaving for Lake Shelbyville a little earlier than planned.
Michigan is actually a beautiful state. I do have to get past the old towns and cities, where there is deterioration and of course, along with it renewal. For me, much of them lack charm.
Heading upstate to Leelanua Peninsula, near Travis City, has its striking moments along with economic blight, which refect ups and downs over the years.There are rolling hills and forests, but there are enclaves of poverty here and there amongst it. Some rundown old homes have rebel flags out in front. Since Michigan was never a part of the Confederacy, we know what that cry is about. Then, in contrast, just down the road, there is more green and a pleasant prosperous farm, fields loaded with cherry trees. Some of the pieces are inviting and some angry.
We have made a point to head through a public forest, because there is potential for walks, camping and naturist solitude. These protected places of natural beauty are however, being hit with a blight that is killing square miles of trees. It looks as if it will destroy the whole ecosystem. We are saddened, but further north, the forest’s plague fades. I suppose that it is still colder there longer, too cold for the infestation.
The road feels long and pretty darn straight. By afternoon, we’re ready for food and a break from something besides a roadway. We’re not sure what to eat. Sometimes it feels like the only choices are fast-food, Mexican, or pizza, after several weeks out here. We do have a picnic lunch choice to eat.
A sign for a road stop pops up. We’ll take it.
What’s a baby-boomer to do?
As a teen, just being out after curfew was prohibitive, but we did it. I’m just flashing back here, as I write, remembering walking late at night down the middle of Mingus Road in Michigan with my girlfriend and dropping my shorts, all that I wore. It was rock star lack of underwear. If it was cool for Mick, then cool for me. The experience felt outrageous and the next step in my evening’s liberation.
It was freeing to do something “crazy.” Jumping out of constrictions, out of conventional uniform, was an increment of “crazy.” That was a part of hippie garb back when. It was different and naked was just one more bold step.
On the way in to visit old friends in Battle Creek, that is while we were lost with a GPS and the wrong address, we passed by Turtle Lake Nude Resort. We made up our mind to stop there on the way out. I’ve been curious for a long many years. It is big enough to have rock festivals. The sun’s out for now. Online, it says that there’s a dance Saturday night.
In New York, we visited the neighborhood that DF grew up in and walked to her old school. She with her brother described every house and who lived in them a long time ago. Memories flood in sometimes. I’m about to have a similar experience, filled with reflections on influences, time, life and values.
In the late 1960’s I lived in Battle Creek, Michigan for a time. I still have friends, the guys in the ‘ol gang that one calls brother. I got the opportunity to get back, to have a visit and look at some of my roots.
We’re escaping the continuing New England storms, by driving straight for our friend’s farm in Western Pennsylvania.
We get in the car in the rain, sad that we have lost our plans to the weather. We have lost days at this wonderful resort, swimming and dancing to the bands, also a bluegrass/blues fest, my dream of decades to visit Thoreau’s Walden Pond. Even more than those, spending more time with our free ranging New England friends.
Our feelings are less a new adventure and more an escape, like some kind of naked refugees from a flood, crossing the waters to wash up in the warm sunshine.
The Free Range Naturist 