Being Naked


Obtuse Kineticist
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Being Naked

Being naked in this context means seeing yourself without the walls
and masks, and being completely honest with myself about what lay
underneath. I cannot remember when the first time was that I sat
naked in front of the mirror in a symbolic manner, but I know the
ritual started in my early adult life. In rare moments of lucidity,
I would begin to recognize that there were patterns in my life that
had not worked, were not working, and never would work to making me
a healthy person. Although it was a harrowing experience to sit as
judge and jury against my self, and the days following such a trial
would be filled with a maelstrom of emotions surfacing, that
enactment of the ritual always had me carving out new directions and
potentials in my life that have helped me to become a more grounded,
and loving human.

Since my journey has unfolded over the past eight years or so, the
frequency of being naked in front of the mirror has greatly
increased, which seems to be an effect of becoming aware of one's
Self. I have been faced with many skeletons in the closet, and many
faults and frailties that have been faced as the obsolete child self
was updated by the blossoming wisdom Self. The process has become
easier with each new ritual, and the recognition of the fiction of
Self that I added to in my mundane life became more and more
apparent. Much of who I was had been based on reactions to other
people's expectations of me, and not based on original thought.

In reflecting on the epiphanies and accomplishments of my journey, I
have come to see that the ritual of being naked in front of the
mirror has been replaced by the act of simply being naked. I seem to
have found some degree of liberation from my established walls and
masks that have been worn since infancy as defense mechanisms from
living in limitation and separation from the external environment
that I was incarnated into. The realization of this has had ripples
throughout the pond that I inhabit. My family and friends have
become much more open and loving ~ without conditions. The act of
giving selflessly has become nearly effortless. I have found such a
measure of comfort in my skin, that I respond with much joy and
humor to my surroundings, rather than being on guard duty all the
time. The effects of effects have spilled out into most aspects of
my total being, and I am finally finding solace in my days.

Being naked was recognizing that the personality that I had arrived
in this moment with, to a greater or lesser degree (depending on my
inner work thus far) was not what I am, but who I am. The who that I
am seems based on reactions and expectations to my surroundings. The
what that I am is at the heart of the layers of patterns. The
journey is the peeling away of the layers of fiction and lies
(unconsciously created mind you). Once I knew that this rough stone
contained a gem at it's center, and that my life had been a lie,
then why fear exposing the lie to an audience of equally false
existing dreamers?

I began this nakedness by admitting to myself first, then in an ever
arching circle next, that I was not perfect, did not know nearly as
much as I pretend to, and was walking through my life with one foot
in my mouth, and the other walking across cut glass to get to some
undefinable place in the distance. In being naked, I got to sit
down, take the foot out of my mouth, pick out the shards of glass ,
and come to the very funny conclusion that I wasnn't walking towards
anything. I was in fact on a treadmill the whole time. I had been
just standing still, with the illusion of living a fast-paced life
at breakneck speed.

How funny it is to finally see the lie that is lived. In that moment
of illuminating self-discovery, time slowed down, and the chattering
mind had nothing much to say anymore because the tape loop had
fallen below my state of being. I have picked up the script and gone
over the lines that I had been reciting repeatedly like a skip in a
record for decades, and all I could do was cast the script aside.
Others may cling tightly to their scripts for the survival of their
fictions, but I can become an expert audience dweller (or people
watcher), and finally...finally know liberation from the dream.

I am without a doubt going to place my foot in my mouth again from
time to time, but the taste is different these days. I can laugh at
that actor Self (which only surfaces when I pick up my script again,
which is never far from reach). I can poke fun at it. I will forget
my Self sometimes and get over my head in ambitious addictions, but
will soon come to recognize the character that I have played on the
stage of life, and give it a round of rousing applause for its

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