The clouds are moving fast, through a turquoise palette this pleasant morning. I am watching a large white dragon fly across the sky. I pull out a camera, but my effort is not quick enough. By the time I’m ready, it has become a simple fat horny toad and then disappears.
We had been awakened early to the sound of the neighbor’s generator and a pounding hammer, before the first light of day. I barely slept by pulling covers over my head and ears. When I next poked my head out, I was surprised and pleased to find those neighbors gone.
Last night, I commented on the smell of their pot, but it is still here. Apparently, it is the mountains. As I sniff around, the pine and wild plants place that aroma on the wind. It’s curiously everywhere.
With their disappearance, we are slightly more capable of casual nudity, but across the road, there is still a view of a trailer, as I sit at the provided cement picnic table.
We take off up the road walking to find the illusive trailhead. Up the road a piece, there is not an official trailhead, but a definite road off of this maintained one. It is a spur and a very rough one. It would require a 4×4, quad, or mountain bike, to traverse just the first 100 feet. This will be our hike today.
August is ending, as we are setting out. DF’s mother is turning over the 100 years mark in her life. There will be a grand gathering of the family in Georgia. We have decided to take the trip out on the road. It will be approximately a month long, across America and back.
Last year, we had an open ended trip that lasted nearly two months. This time we’ll be away somewhere about half that time with a more structured itinerary. We’ll need to arrive a few days before the gathering to help out, so we’ll be traveling with a deadline for the first crossing,
I have set up a series of new places to try. Every stop has a plan and an opportunity to explore with the addition of nudity. This way, there will be a little more excitement, a game to play, a game to win, by doing this trip nude. The game prize will be a liberation in the face of a silly tyranny, freedom out on the road.
I’ve found life to be better when seasoning is added. It can be imagination, something that may be called flare, or a changeup. A pile of rock and dirt can become majestic, or a barren expanse may be wide open spaces in my soaring heart. Things can go so far as to bringing in a sense of more closeness to infinity and awe, or of God. The herb in this slice of life will be bare bodies.
When I use all of my senses, I can breathe in magical air with fascinating scents. There is so much here in any moment when I open up to it. When more synapses go off in symphony, the vibrations are raised, my whole being is stimulated. I feel more and it becomes more.
I’m going to say it again, “Life is just better when done naked.” A kiss of air through the crack in a window, the draft when I shift my legs, the anticipation of a full experience, adds to the moment by moment experience of the day. Just stopping the car and stepping out, can be an amazing new world and add a huge sense to life.
There is the simple addition of the full abandonment without clothing. There may be a hint of calculated risk, usually nil, but still a game is afoot.
Preparations have been fairly smooth as we have camped and traveled numerous times in the Honda Civic. My spare time during the last couple of months has been used creating a bucket list and mapping out the journey. We have over 24 hours of driving within the less than ten days before our arrival in the forested hills of northern Georgia. We’re heading through New Mexico, then across the panhandle into Missouri. The last day will get us into northern Georgia.
After the triple digit celebration, we can take our time on a journey through the American south. We’ll explore across the southern end of Texas, an area neither of us has ever seen, into parts unknown.
As we set off, the numerous preparations have us feeling like we have already been on this trip for a couple of weeks. The plan is to make some distance during the first leg and then take a break, spending a casual day wandering naked through the mountains of the Cibola National Forest.
This National Forest is divided into several regions based on terrain. There is Cibola near Albuquerque, which is less remote than our planned destination. Decades ago, I would cruise the two lane highway 54 north of Alamogordo away from the Interstates, in its timelessness. It is thinly populated, a grassy pinion pine expanse. I have found a section of the National Forest in a range near this place. I have contacted the forest service with a few questions and they concurred that “solitude” can be found. It is about as far as I would care to travel in a day and the isolation gives that potential for safe hassle free nude hiking and camping.
The ocean does have that expansive view that goes somewhere out toward infinity. It accompanies any stroll on a beach. When there is access along a beach as far as my feet might take me, that expansive sense is moved ashore. I remember that in Mexico, strolling along the coast of the Gulf of California. It is desert, so there are many miles where there are no humans, no development, just us.
We are free and alone, safe as far as we see. We take as little as possible to be as naked as possible, surrendered naked in the hands of grace.
We are as naked as the beach is, in touch with every sensation and whim of the natural part of it, the tides, the breeze, the warm sun and vibratory sound of the wave’s crash and the motion against shifting sands.
The shore is often thought of as a boundary, sometimes between countries, sometimes the demarcation of the land and sea. Skin also is thought of that way, the edge of the body, like a castle enclosed in a wall. Clothing holds the gates; it is the walls of protection.
As I walk in the sands near the shoreline, I watch the waves come in, pounding the submissive yet powerful sand, as all shifts. The life, its rhythms, the vibrations are here. Sand changes from soaked with water and back to dry. The sun robs the cool left by the sea and again dries it as the tide ebbs and flows. Sound carries, reflecting changing circumstance. It isn’t a boundary. It is whole and fluid, a copacetic transition.
My stroll in this naked body, not enclosed in its coverings, is warmed. It is also dried, it is cooled, and senses make me aware of the meld and the rapport that this body shares within this world. There isn’t a boundary. There is more to being in this universe and the vibrations have no boundaries.. The cloth boundaries may protect at times, but they shut out a huge part of being.
All is here as one and I am only to observe. This I know because I have torn down the wall of fabric on this beach.
In a season of thanks, I get naked and better feel gratitude.
I am on the forum of FreeRangeNaturism.com often, if you would like to converse.
It’s just a body. Relax. Take some time to explore being completely naked and with others. It feels really good. No fear here. You will probably come to thoughts like, “Yup, I’ve got one of those, too.” “Oh, that’s interesting.” It is life, a matter of fact, natural, but….
The rules and life in America, from a very early age don’t support those thoughts.
It is a Birthday. It begins casually, leading to a brunch on a sidewalk café in an eastside strip mall. The food is good, but all of the hanging plants and wrought iron won’t escape the fact that we’re eating in their big parking lot.
Afterward, I use a door panel and the other cars next door in that parking area, to get out of my pants and into my hiking kilt. With the addition of toe shoes, I’m nearly ready.
We are near the base of scenic Mt. Lemon Highway, a long meander up into the Catalina Mountains. It starts in desert and finishes in alpine conditions at 9200 feet. Our destination is a beautiful 20 mile drive from the restaurant.
About half the way, we pull off into a familiar small parking lot on the side of the road, at around 7000 feet. This was the trailhead for our Lower Bug Springs Trail hike a couple of years back. With birthday celebrations in the order of our day, we have decided to do this shorter easier trail in the compressed time that we have. DF wants to feel nature, the solitude, the sensual nudity and be in touch with a grounding spiritual experience. It is her day, her celebration.
For years, I’ve been experimenting with barefoot living. I’ve pondered what the Native Americans in this region did with their thousands of years of experience. How did our naked ancestors work it out? How is it possible in various terrains, to be chasing down prey on foot? How does a body naturally adapt?
It is healthier for posture, locomotion, knees, etc., but what about all of those abrasive, sharp, or biting pieces along the path one takes. I could get by in a forest, generally, especially if my feet were conditioned to be used bare foot, but what about the spiny hot desert?
Traveling in the desert barefoot is just pressing your luck. It is not if, but when, catastrophe happens. I have had short discomfort on one end of the scale. Prickers and sharp rocks happen. The other end of the scale was being laid up for six weeks from a deep toxic cholla thorn embedded in just the correct nerve.
An elderly friend with no feeling in his feet, was under home healthcare because of the first degree burns that he unwittingly sustained one afternoon. He was in his garden in his backyard, on concrete and rocks, while barefoot. He just didn’t realize that his flesh was literally broiling.
So, how did the ancient locals do it?
The Native Americans around here all have had important cultural traditions in long distance running for hunting, sport and travel.
I visited the University of Arizona a couple of days ago. I found the evidence. While most Native cultures around here were pretty much nude, there were shoes to protect feet, at least while running hundreds of miles across wilderness desert.
Living in a grouping of huts, gathering shrubbery carefully, squatting for seating, all may be done naked all over, but there are times when that just isn’t practical.
I was pleased to find this exhibit. It confirmed many questions that I have been carrying about feet. This is a far cry from the rubber tire treads huarache shoes of the Tarahumara of today.
The practicality of the weather and a distinct lack of cloth to be found has brought the general conclusion that clothing wasn’t a daily occurrence. Skins and cotton were available. Evolutionary adapted dark pigment helped protect the locals. My experience over decades has shown me that wearing clothing is ridiculous most of the year.
The first eight chapters of the barefoot living series can be found in the table of contents. The publishing date is there, just look it up from the archives listing on the side of the main page.
I am on the forum of FreeRangeNaturism.com often, if you would like to converse.
We have been visiting/hiking the ‘ol walking trails in the Tortolita Mountains, northwest of Tucson, where I used to live. Now, we are going to investigate the strawbale home that I built and the destruction of habitat where my stealth trail and Havarock sat. Both near the spot that Javalina kept as a safe home. I know that a road and building pads have been introduced. I don’t know how extensive.
The series in this website“My Private Place for Naturism” is about my experiences in this place.
Most of you may realize that about two years ago, I moved back into Tucson proper from my desert home in the Tortolita Mountains. Today, DF and I went back for a visit and to hike into the mountains. We’re hoping that it will feel fresh for us.
It is mid- February, so the desert is just coming out of winter. However, thanks to climate change, today the higher 70F’s have hit with an absolutely cloudless sky. It is a perfect day in Tortoltila.
“I found being naked to be a humbling experience . . . There were no clothes that could make me feel like I was anything other than who I am: A being created by God, whose purpose is to find, and do, whatever He created me to do. . . Being naked isn’t a means of attaining inner peace. But: Being naked can direct a person towards the source of inner peace: God. . . What I will do, is allow the humility that being naked made me feel to direct my heart to the only one who can satisfy my deepest, most desperate desires. . . you’re not a freak or a pervert if you want to be naked. God meant for you to be naked. . . I see the desire to be naked as a desire to return to God — a desire to reclaim the relationship with God, the relationship with our fellow human beings, and the relationship with the world, that was lost as a result of Adam’s and Eve’s sin.”
Bodies are like temples. They are most sacred. They are as sacred as a church, or any man made object. The following are my many thoughts on the matter. By the end, if you put them together, all or part, they say temple. Each paragraph might stand alone with bullets, but I chose to just let it flow
I’d say that it is a birthright to be naked because it is as using a temple, which is at one with nature, in mind and spirit.
It is important to love and respect the body. It deserves to be treated as the miracle that it is. It is our vehicle to explore incarnation, to live life. It is a gift.
No matter what, no body is nobody.
This flesh and blood is an object of great beauty and wonder. It is so very complex, what else could it be but a genuine miracle? Pieces of it are numbered in the billions, interacting, functioning together and ready for most situations. It all is just incomprehensible when one realizes how amazing it all is.
I’d say, most would, that this entire world is a gift. As so, it is spiritual. The body is born out of this. We try to explain and understand the intricate miraculous nature of the body, but always, we are still far behind in understanding its wisdom. Being in my body is a spiritual act in a magnificent temple. The Taj Mahal, Charts Cathedral, the Sistine Chapel can’t ever compare to the amazing place in which each of us dwells.