Keri

Keri – USA

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To Mend.  To forgive.  To re-member peace.  It takes one, sometimes.  And sometimes, it takes two.

She asks me is there a place on your body that feels disconnected or you’d like to speak to, and I say my belly.  And she comes from behind me, deliberate and caring against my belly, her forearms cradling my hips.

These hips, she says, are beautiful, solid and strong, and well-adapted.

She holds my core, places my hands underneath hers, and lingers.  The Divine feminine loves a slow, savoring, inviting courtship.  After my guard surrenders, I feel my belly give way, no resistance, no fighting.

Only gravity and me. And a witness, courting my Wholeness.

And I breathe.  The deepest breath yet of the day, from my bowels, I inhale.  I soften. I am breathed by the Universe, by Creation, as a promise to Life and Purpose.  This radical permission bursts forth from under my hands.  I remember this.

Home. Under her hands.  An offering, a simple act.  To hold.  Connect.  Affirm.  A profound humility and triumph to find myself taking up space, proud and full.  At the suggestion.  Naked.  Vulnerable.  Accepted.  This comfort seeps deep in my bones, my sinew, becomes Whole Food for my body, this chalice, this transmitter to my Experience.  My beloved place of weakest connection surges positive affirmations and her dignity is restored under the care and skill of a lover of healing, a lover of pleasure, a lover of the sacred Mending and Seeing, the joyful and sensual re-connection to our bodies.

And that was this morning, before I meet Erica on the banks of the Swannanoa.  This morning swirls with plenty new sensual moments over the last month that have answered my sultry and exploratory dreams of self-acceptance and openness to love.   On the clutches of jumping my hometown nest for a few months, I’m taking Radical to a whole new self-love, sisterhood and planetary stewardship level.  And it feels divine!

For the photo shoot, I meet my Big self on the bank.  I passed through the river, with all my parts.  Through frigid waters my spirit acclimates and ensures steady footing.  With a smile on my face, and all the exquisite laughter and lightness of recent love expressed, shared and felt, I forge the river in my best buff.  I feel my toes numb, my hairs stand on end, my thighs turn pink at the steady nagging of the water’s chill.  Through the stimulating waters, my body is returned to me, in its perfect form.  Pink.  Raw.  Alive.  This one devastatingly daring life, I sparked my own wondrous and enchanting initiation.  To my wilding.  To my nature.  To this joyful commitment to Wholeness.

And I look there beyond the waters whose ripples bring nutrients to the banks, my destination.  Precious and powerful Water, she sows the seed of potential and destruction at her whim, and laps the shores with no hesitation.  I scurry between submerged boulders, then footpath, then between stoic trees that yield and bend with the bank to know the larger love of surrender.  To be shaped by love.  To yield to love. To truly love ourselves as a radical statement to know peace.  We get there on our own and with others’ loving reflections of our gifts, our Wholeness.  Witnessing ourselves as intact, playful, embodied, and awake, peace is our daily joyful activism and life is art, blossoming.

Heather

Heather – USA

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I really enjoyed doing this photo shoot because it reminded me how much I enjoy being naked, especially in nature, and it made me appreciate my body more.  I have been photographed, painted and drawn naked by friends, lovers, and for art classes, so I did not feel much trepidation about being photographed.  I felt extremely comfortable with Erica.  After the shoot I felt relaxed and had a renewed appreciation for my body and also for photography.

My feelings about my body are very much tied to sexuality.  I am not sure if that is a good thing, but that is just how it happened for me.  As a child (age 4) I was molested for over a year by two neighbors a young man aged 14 and a young woman aged 17.  It was extremely traumatic for me, especially with the boy/man as he was sadistic and would threaten to kill me or my brother or dog if I told anyone.  He also said that I was “ugly and disgusting”, while molesting me, so obviously he had a lot of trauma himself, but at the time I really took it all in and was very hurt by it.  I also numbed out and “left” my body and I think I have struggled ever since to really be here, not just in my body but on the earth as a human.   This has led me to connect with many different forms of healing and art.

What ended up as the most healing thing for me were my subsequent intimate relationships.  I have been blessed with boyfriends and a husband who were extremely loving and appreciative of my body in every way, not just sexually but my appearance and my spirit.  That, more than other healing modalities/therapies, really made me appreciate my own body and my own self. I feel most comfortable being naked in sexually intimate relationships and probably least comfortable being clothed and at a party.

I feel regretful that my first experience of my body was so external, coming from what someone else told me about myself.  I wish my earliest memory of my body was coming from a place of enjoying it from within myself, like feeling the sun on my skin or smelling a flower or dancing.

Another more current experience I have had with my body relates to my weight.  I have spent most of my life 30 pounds lighter than I am now.  Four years ago I took an antidepressant for two years and gained 30 pounds as a result, which has not come off, even though I am no longer taking the medication.  That has been really difficult for me as I feel kind of “out of place” in my own body and a bit more self-conscious than I have been in the past.  That is still an ongoing process for me.

Traveling has really affected me in a myriad of ways.  Related to body image, it has shown me how many different body types there are and that what is beautiful or sexy in one culture is different than what is beautiful/sexy in another.

I find it sad that American culture really uses women’s sexuality to sell US stuff, and so we end up participating in our own oppression.

I realize that being born in the 70s, I am a part of the first time in recent history that women, who have traditionally been valued for reproduction alone (i.e. not for their minds or spirits and not allowed education, voting rights, creative work outside of creating children, or independence outside of family), are, in a societally condoned way, stepping out of just being mothers and really seeing who we are.  In that old traditional type of society it makes sense that only a firm young fertile body would be considered beautiful because fertility is their sole purpose. I think now, beauty standards and how we as women value ourselves and are valued will change for the better.

Dominique

Dominique – USA

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The Feral Goddess

Once upon a time there was a feral goddess who met a wizard from distant lands. The wild nature of this feral goddess attracted the wizard to share the rhythms of the forest. There she felt her heart awakening to new possibilities of joy through singing, dancing and waterfalls. She never knew this kind of love existed! She felt so open to the magic that one day she fell into a spell of terror. Confused by the terror, she attempted to sing and not even the tiniest sound would come from her mouth, and when she attempted to dance her body would freeze into ice. Unable to break the spell, the wizard had to continue his pursuits to learn the powers of the oceans. The feral goddess was at the depths of the underworld.

For days and nights, the feral goddess would lay on a stone in the middle of the river and cry to the mountains. In the darkness of a new moon and surrounded by the sounds of the forest, she trembled like a soft animal and her skin would shed like a snake. She looked up at the vast sky, calling upon the stars for guidance; tears would fall down her cheeks.

During the act of her invocation she heard the sounds of deep HUMMMS. “What is that?” the goddess exclaimed.

Then, in the blink of an eye a fairy named Fox flew right in front of her face, and he spoke. “I have come from the prayers of a heart full of grief. Your voice is so powerful that the mountains started to shake. Why must you cry goddess?” The feral goddess confessed, “I am scared that I will never sing and dance or love again!” Fox smirked and gently giggled, “Goddess, you are infinite expressions of love. Your wild nature is the essence of your being, and has inspired the wizard to show you the magic of the forest! With the magic you experienced through your songs and dance, you will now know the ways of the forest! Remember that these feelings are the keys to your greatest gifts. Use your voice to sing the beauty you are and know that the love you feel for the wizard is you.”

The feral goddess placed her hands on her chest and closed her eyes. The tears rolling down her checks turned into love and gratitude. “One more thing goddess,” Fox announced. “I brought you a drum. Go to the waterfall with this drum and dance and sing your remembrance. The drum will help you feel the Earth below you, because you are Heaven. It is time for you to bring the heavens you carry inside of you to the forest.”

The feral goddess went to the waterfall with the drum. She sang her most joyous heart songs to the waterfall and gave gratitude to the wizard, imagining the water connecting to the ocean. She knew then that her truest love was the dance and in that knowledge her essence became one, in marriage, with the world.

David

David – USA

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Oh, mud.

Sitting on the river bank warming myself with a hot toddy after the shoot, I notice a woman in the distance tumbling off the path down the river bank. Erica and I hurry up the trail and find her, still on the phone, trying to figure out how to crawl back up the muddy, sandy slope. Each of us taking an arm, we get her back on the trail. Her tears show embarrassment and frustration as she dusts herself off, “Oh no, I’m all muddy,” she sniffles worriedly before thanking us and continuing on her path.

This day was all about getting muddy. It was about giving myself permission to be dirty and unattractive and messy. It was about playing in that mud and washing away the anxiety and weight of perfection. It was a celebration of grit and chaos and the lower self; it was a homecoming.

Embodiment has always resonated with me. I have faced the demons of insecurity on the physical plane. I have long ago danced naked in the sun and conquered the dragons guarding the treasures of sexual freedom. But despite these victories, I have lately found myself far from the path of living an empowered, embodied life. I find myself ungrounded and tired, lost in a labyrinth of addictive consumption: food, alcohol, entertainment, anything I can throw into the bottomless pit of dissatisfaction for temporary relief. And as I’ve tried to feed these false idols, the seeds of fear and insecurity began to take hold and spread like weeds choking off the flowers of confidence and joy I’d previously planted.

And so there I was, off of my path at the bottom of the riverbank covered in mud; embarrassed of where I’d let myself fall to; embarrassed to ask for help; embarrassed to be seen.

And now is the time I stand up and climb out. Now is the time I laugh at myself for getting so upset over a little mess. Now is the time I return to my body. Now is the time to remember that mud is to be celebrated. I remembered it as I stood naked in the river and dug between the rocks for mud with curiosity at its varying makeup. I remembered as I sifted through it with my hands and marveled at how rich and vibrant the mud was. I remembered as I ran the mud through my hair I basked in the creative powers of the lower self. I remembered as I laughed and sang at the grand sense of humor of God.

Bert

Bert – USA

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I grew up in a household that was very open, and clothes weren’t necessarily required.

We saw each other naked, not every day, but it just wasn’t a big deal.  If somebody went down the hall without their clothes, that was ok.  This was in the 1930s.  My father was very Victorian, but it was not unusual to see him or my mother or sister nude in the house.  Because of that I’m probably more comfortable without clothes than most people.  I was lucky.  I grew up in the Great Depression.  I was a teenager in WWII.  I was 12 at the time of Pearl Harbor.

I’m a very open person to start with, on almost any subject.  I don’t recall that I’ve never had nude photos taken before.  I’ve had a lot of one-on-one nudity but never in public.  It just wasn’t my generation.  I’d like to have the body I had when I was 40 or 30, but bodies don’t get better through the ages, they generally get a little more out of shape, a little more broken here or there.  Your belly falls a little and your breasts fall a little and your tummy falls a little…gravity works on all of us every day.

Bodies are a complex issue that keeps arising through life.  It’s shaped by parents, by contemporaries and school, and by ten years old it begins to be shaped by television, television, television.  America is greatly hung up on beauty and youth.  At 84 I’m probably less critical and less involved with the height, width, size, and shape of bodies.  I see the personality and the soul and not just the housing.  Take care of your body, it houses the soul.

I’ve had a very active adult life.  Lots of exploring and adventures.  I pretty much steer my own course.  I think it was Mark Twain who said,  “I was born excited.”  I’ve taken a hard run at life for a long time.  And I’m not done yet!

Aaron & Asher

Aaron + Asher – USA

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Aaron

Dismantling Wrongness

 

my son is perfection

this is clear to me

as it is with all parents with eyes to see

our children, born naked

mirror our own divine beauty

our innate goodness

 

as i dance with my son

on this journey of parenting

he teaches me where i have forgotten

to love myself

to play, to celebrate being alive

in a body, perfectly suited for me

 

i see also

as i teach him how to be in this world

the broken eyes of society

that live in me too

that find wrongness, cast judgements

that have lost sight of the goodness of being naked

 

my son and i
 
we say to you
 
live your lives free
 
break whatever chains inside you
 
that hold you back from you own glorious radiance

love yourself unconditionally

because it’s more fun that way

because it’s how it was meant to be

because it helps us love ourselves too

 

and when the sun rises in the morning

wherever you are

laying there within you, within us all

is our naked truth,

the kindest thing:

the grace of god

 

 

Asher

 

if everyone didn’t care they would just walk out the door naked and i would too.

they would just get out of bed, eat breakfast, and just walk out the door without even putting clothes on.

it would be good. really good.

Bri

Bri – USA

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I grew up in a small town in western Tennessee with quite an untraditional family of mostly women. In fact, my father was the only male in the house until I got a male cat during my college years. From my childhood onward, as long as dad wasn’t at home, my mother, sister, and I had no issue with roaming around the house naked. This isn’t to say that we were nudists, or that we would become naked for no reason at all, but if one of us were getting out of the shower or trying on clothes there was no qualm against being nude for extended periods of time in each other’s presence.

At the same time, having grown up in a small, rural town in the Deep South, I was taught that a lady doesn’t do such a thing in a public setting. A respectable female covers the important bits (and then some) so that something is left for the imagination. Who is going to want to buy the cow when you can get the milk for free, right?

I was never the skinniest (too much delicious southern food) or the prettiest (as I saw it) girl in the room when I was younger. From an early age, I remember looking at images of beautiful women and wishing with all that I had that I could look like them one day. This desire intensified as I hit puberty. These women were slender, with rounded breasts, perfect skin, and luscious, thick hair of all shades, and 13-year-old me, with pointed, small breasts, a plump frame, and thin, strawberry blond hair, wanted nothing more than to trade places with them. I wanted to be that girl who, when I walked into a room, people noticed and didn’t forget after two seconds. I found myself soon after with an eating disorder, trying to make my hair more blonde, and changing what I wore to fit a certain demographic.

It wasn’t until I was fifteen or sixteen that I realized something was wrong with this. I walked into a modeling agency with long, straight hair; weighing 135 lbs. and wearing a size 5-7, which is a little under average for my 5’9” frame. The woman at the desk, after perusing some of the photos I brought, looked me up and down, and with a sugary sweet voice informed me that I would probably never be able to do modeling for the kind of fashion I wanted to do. With my size, I would only be able to do a little commercial work, and then, only as a plus sized model. This was my first big wake up call. I walked out, never to return, and I remember thinking things like, “Who are you to tell me, albeit indirectly, that I’m too large to be in high fashion?” and “Why am I doing this to myself?”. From that night forward, I decided that I would let my body take the shape it wanted, and I would spend more time worrying about making myself beautiful on the inside. This is about the time that I started heavily playing guitar and poking my nose into even more books. If I couldn’t be the prettiest, I was going to be one of the smartest and most interesting.

So here I find myself today, having waged countless wars with myself, being my own worst enemy most of the time, and I can honestly say that I’m happy with who I’ve become. That isn’t to say I don’t have the same issues with my body; I do. There are still plenty of ways I could think of changing it. I just know that a lot of these changes are unrealistic and unnecessary.  I’m currently a size 6, with small, pointed breasts, and straight, thin auburn hair. I still look in the mirror on a daily basis and feel a pang of unease that it isn’t what I see throughout the media. The difference between my mindset now and what it used to be is that now, I understand that I can feel beautiful regardless of my weight, shape, size, or appearance. I have realized that I don’t need to look like the women in magazines, and I most definitely don’t need the approval of everyone around me to feel beautiful. If I can’t love my body for what it is, and love myself inside and out, why should I expect other people to love it?

This question is what led me to take the vulnerability of nakedness even further for this project. I could be comfortable enough naked if I was hiding behind the mask that make-up provides. I don’t usually wear a lot of it, but I do feel prettier after I’ve covered the imperfections and added a little color to my lids and lashes. I don’t ever leave the house without at least a sweep of powder and some mascara on my face. Strange as it may seem, I feel more naked without makeup than I do when I’m actually unclothed.  Even in the interview before the shoot, I might as well have been nude, the way I felt. Add this to how uncomfortable I am as the focus of a camera lens, and you have the recipe for a “deer in the headlights” kind of feeling. I did find that during the shoot, I encountered waves of comfort and unease at being photographed naked, but after the initial few photos, I completely forgot that my face was bare. At the end of the shoot, I remember touching my face as I normally would to fix my eyeliner, and realizing it wasn’t necessary. Not only that, my face felt smooth and clean. It felt so natural, and I even became comfortable with the idea that many people might see me in such an open, vulnerable state.

All of this is why I chose to do this project, and it took me awhile to realize it. I found myself attracted to the idea behind it, and I instantly wanted to be a part of the movement that I saw in it, but I couldn’t put my finger on why for the longest time. Then it hit me. I’m lucky enough to have done a lot of self examination from a fairly early age, and through it, I’ve become (mostly) comfortable in my own skin. As I said, I still have confidence issues, but in general, I’m comfortable being who I am, in whatever physical form that takes. That’s what I want for everyone— comfort with whatever body they have. I wanted to be an example for whoever this project reached, to show them that everyone has these issues, but you don’t have to allow them to control you. It is easy to appreciate beauty in others, but there is true beauty in every part of nature, and everyone is a part of that. You can learn to love the body you have in all its perfection and imperfection: every inch of you is something beautiful because it is part of human existence and the broad spectrum of beauty that comprises it.

Matthew

Matthew – USA

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To be naked is to be alive.

Unzip and step out.

Shed that invention of a shield, that expression of suppression of should be’s.

Bold, naked beautiful me.

The soft vulnerability that gets pushed out while pubic hairs push in.

Neon blazing billboards of conformity rush like fiery lava into the eyes of America only to curl up upon our souls like venomous snakes ready to strike at our naked flesh.

The Rolexed man whispers in the young girl’s ear. Boob job, tummy tuck, a little lip for Christmas darling?

Shattered masses marching with tick-tock submissions praying 5 times a day to the Gods on Entertainment Weekly.

15,000,000 cosmetic surgeries a year. A nation living in fear of being seen.

Commandments leap from the Gucci, Versace, Prada pom-poms, pull out perfume creases, be like she, look at me, deny the ancient truth of We.

Touched up postproduction starlets sashay the silver screens spilling out of white limousines. Photographers saying YES! You are the one that our culture will fold around, taking notes, spending lives learning how to forget themselves.

Naked and pure we were sucking milk from the tribal mother. You are still with us. You will never leave us.

What will it take for our people to remember you?

Could it be time to Embody that which is rightfully ours. Time to steal back the naked truths that show up only in whispers on moonlight nights and cricket groves?

Unsheathed, unshoed, raw and primal, pumping vitality into the wilted petals of the soul.

Wake up my brothers and sisters. Return to your naked essence. Your delicate and fertile truth. And we will rise up in tribal remembrance to all that which is divinely ours.