I adore these Renee, not least because it means I get to take a walk with you in your neighbourhood. I am reminded that recently I have been exposed like never before. As the layers have been shed, I have nothing left to hide behind and it feels vulnerable. Until now when I am reminded through your images that there are seasons in our life when we must stand still and be seen without the masks of beauty, of adornment, of baggage. Here we stand and brace ourselves against the cold until we bloom again, in the most natural of ways. With love Louise x
Thank you for sharing about feeling exposed of late "like never before . . . "nothing left to hide behind and it feels vulnerable," which is so (tortuously at times!) uncomfortable. Is it not? You show us here "that there are seasons in our life when we must stand still and be seen without the masks. . . ." You show us, as the winter trees show us, that to be vulnerable is natural, an attribute of life itself. Because it's uncomfortable, we tend to assign a negative value to it. But here, you show us the beauty of being unmasked, even if it's uncomfortable. This discomfort, too, shall pass, and here we stand more boldly beautiful than ever.
I, for one, embrace you for always showing us your willing vulnerability, and for that, I call you courageous.
Yes! Vulnerability as a natural process, how much more beautiful does that feel. I am more than a little relieved that the words that came to me before, after a short, sweet absence have returned. It makes my heart glad to be here once again.
I, for one––and I know there are many––am glad you are here again, too!
What comes to me as I read you here is that sometimes, we need a little wintering of our own to retreat from the noise of the world, sink down into the Earth of who we are, and then body forth anew when the timing is just so. Is this not the cyclical way of Nature? We are that!
Thank you for sharing, Louise. Sending love across the great Atlantic.
So true Renee, oh how my wish is that I one day learn to embrace this with the same ease that Mother Nature does. That is my plan. Thank you dear heart. x
"It is one thing to stand naked. It is another to do so with arms outstretched, refusing to hide, dancing with the night in the white light of day." I was thinking about this quote from you Renée and I mentioned it to Mary and she said; "Just like St. Francis in that movie". Yes, it is a scene in this beautiful movie about his early life and transformation from a rich son of a businessman to a beggar full of love and light from God. He's standing in the center of a circle surrounded by the townspeople with his father wanting some kind of justice because Francis was giving all his father's expensive clothes away telling everyone that material things will never make you happy; instead turn to simplicity and humility. As he addresses the priest and the townspeople, he talks of his epiphany and urges everyone to be free of all that we are enslaved to; and as he is talking, he is disrobing, until he is totally naked in front of everyone. With a blissful look on his face, his arms outstretched, he proceeds to walk out of the town naked to become a beggar, "like Jesus". It is a powerful scene that always gives me chills. To be that courageous and with such conviction. It's really quite beautiful and inspiring to witness. Of course, we're all capable of getting to that place, aren't we? A place of true freedom; of surrender to God's will; of shedding all the needs of the ego, and truly living from our true self. I have become more in love with trees as I've aged, and more in awe of how incredibly tall they can be and yet so firmly rooted. I love them in the summer full of leaves, and I love them in the winter, empty of leaves, but still standing so tall. As you said, "Every bare tree limb and leafless stalk is a living image of standing nude before the world, saying I am." As Mary Oliver says: "...and they call again. (the trees) "It's simple", they say, "and you too have come here to do this. To go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine."
Your reflection--and Mary's invocation of it in these words, "Just like St. Francis in that movie"--is profound, and I thank you for sharing. After describing this moving scene of St. Francis, you write: "we're all capable of getting to that place, aren't we? A place of true freedom; of surrender to God's will; of shedding all the needs of the ego, and truly living from our true self." Yes, and we "have come here to do this" to be like the trees and St. Francis, arms outstretched, "our place of true freedom," and in setting ourselves free, we might just set the world free from our bondage.
A question I have been holding these early weeks of 2024 is: what questions are we called to explore together here Beyond the Comfort Zone to avail us to this Great Work of surrendering, shedding, and emancipating our true self? This is an open question, and I invite you and others reading these comments to share questions you would find valuable for us to explore here.
I feel like my journey is an ongoing dance between seeking to experience my essential being without the "needs of the ego", and a long overdue ego development {as a vehicle for this physical world), ..as a woman who lived long under the influence of subtle and more obvious limitations imposed on me (that I colluded with) in a society still influenced by patriarchal definitions of who I should be.
You give us to the delicate tension between purity of being and a healthy ego structure in a world where this is necessary. And what timing, given the reflections that came yesterday on the emergence of 'self' into the Modern world and lingering questions about self that we will explore in the weeks ahead. It could be said that the emergence of self follows the emergence of the Domination Paradigm and "patriarchal definitions."
The thought of being present and seen in the barest version of myself brings both joy and trepidation. The absolute joy of being fully me, without the wall and shields I have learned to use to protect my sensitive soul conflicts with the fear of my sensitive soul being overwhelmed by the world. I have learned there are places my soul is safe and thus try more and more to live in those spaces.
". . . brings both joy and trepidation." I so appreciate that you bring both to recognition here. Would the joy be a response to the sense of freedom? Would the trepidation be a response to fear of rejection, fear for safety? (You name protecting your sensitive soul.)
Thank you also for these words: "voice in photo form."
I am reminded in these images and Louise's comment that I am not only experiencing this literally "naked season", but also a very vulnerable "season" of my life as I enter elderhood. I "clothe" it often, but not as often as I used to, whether due to the fading desire to "cover my nakedness" that my ego has driven, or to simple exhaustion from the day to day requirements of this outer world.... and ... I am grateful to be arriving at an age where the inner urges to... "... stand still and be seen without the masks of beauty, of adornment... " are louder and more frequent, and delighted that as I let those go, the burden of my "baggage" goes with them! Always, always!... grateful for reminders!
You have given us a beautiful reflection on the shedding that comes with age, the shedding of pretence, of edifice, and artifice; and on re-turning to the naked and true, vulnerable as it reveals us to be. And what beauty is the absence of adornment! Thank you for this.
These images are so exquisitely beautiful. I love getting glimpses of where you walk. Two things came to mind as I read this. The first is that I surprised myself by thinking (at least for a moment) that I might be more uncomfortable with everyone else's nakedness than my own. I had a vision of everyone in my busy neighborhood standing naked outside with their arms outstretched, and I thought, "Oh my. That might be a good day for me to stay inside." Gosh, I think that might say a lot about me. I'll have to analyze the hell out of this. The second thing that came to mind was an experience I had this evening on my sunset walk. As I headed back towards home, I heard sirens on a nearby street and then a pack of coyotes, even closer to me, joined in the song. The sirens and the howling fused together into an incredible, otherworldly sound. As you said, there is always wildness in home.
Here is what comes to me as I read your delicious honesty:
Adam and Eve hid. All the ways nakedness in its many metaphorical meanings evokes in us discomfort, the impulse to look away (out of sensivitivity and conscience, I suspect); the impulse to hide, to not too easily disclose what's behind the cloak.
I can nearly hear the cry of the coyotes in song with the sirens. This is so heartening to read. It cracks open a portal into the soul. Thank you for sharing.
I have stood naked this past week in writing on Substack about my failed adoption, stripping away artifice to share the truth of my experience. My words of grief invited critical comments from a handful of anonymous people, one of whom created the fake email shouldnothavekids@____.com in order to shame me in my own comments section. My writing has since moved behind a paywall for that reason.
I’ve never felt my bare, ice-covered limbs so exposed to the harshness of the elements. Thankfully, many members of my community responded with kindness and empathy, gracing my branches with sunlight.
Thank you, Renée, for this photographic essay that gives imagery to my experience, while hinting at the new growth to come with the warmth of spring.
Thank you for sharing your experience and how these images of winter-bare limbs reflected and soothed your own nakedness. They show us that all life is becoming, "new growth" always blossoming come spring. We forget in this 'summer' culture of ours that we need the bare bones of winter for that new growth to come.
Just days shy now of the mid-winter turn, I am wishing you ease in these hard days of grief.
I adore these Renee, not least because it means I get to take a walk with you in your neighbourhood. I am reminded that recently I have been exposed like never before. As the layers have been shed, I have nothing left to hide behind and it feels vulnerable. Until now when I am reminded through your images that there are seasons in our life when we must stand still and be seen without the masks of beauty, of adornment, of baggage. Here we stand and brace ourselves against the cold until we bloom again, in the most natural of ways. With love Louise x
Louise,
Thank you for sharing about feeling exposed of late "like never before . . . "nothing left to hide behind and it feels vulnerable," which is so (tortuously at times!) uncomfortable. Is it not? You show us here "that there are seasons in our life when we must stand still and be seen without the masks. . . ." You show us, as the winter trees show us, that to be vulnerable is natural, an attribute of life itself. Because it's uncomfortable, we tend to assign a negative value to it. But here, you show us the beauty of being unmasked, even if it's uncomfortable. This discomfort, too, shall pass, and here we stand more boldly beautiful than ever.
I, for one, embrace you for always showing us your willing vulnerability, and for that, I call you courageous.
With love,
Renée
Yes! Vulnerability as a natural process, how much more beautiful does that feel. I am more than a little relieved that the words that came to me before, after a short, sweet absence have returned. It makes my heart glad to be here once again.
I, for one––and I know there are many––am glad you are here again, too!
What comes to me as I read you here is that sometimes, we need a little wintering of our own to retreat from the noise of the world, sink down into the Earth of who we are, and then body forth anew when the timing is just so. Is this not the cyclical way of Nature? We are that!
Thank you for sharing, Louise. Sending love across the great Atlantic.
So true Renee, oh how my wish is that I one day learn to embrace this with the same ease that Mother Nature does. That is my plan. Thank you dear heart. x
🙏
Beautifully said, Louise!
Thank you so much, I really appreciate this Liz. I find that Renee’s images always inspire an inner creativity that can’t wait to get out! 💫🙏
Thank you, Louise. 🙏
"It is one thing to stand naked. It is another to do so with arms outstretched, refusing to hide, dancing with the night in the white light of day." I was thinking about this quote from you Renée and I mentioned it to Mary and she said; "Just like St. Francis in that movie". Yes, it is a scene in this beautiful movie about his early life and transformation from a rich son of a businessman to a beggar full of love and light from God. He's standing in the center of a circle surrounded by the townspeople with his father wanting some kind of justice because Francis was giving all his father's expensive clothes away telling everyone that material things will never make you happy; instead turn to simplicity and humility. As he addresses the priest and the townspeople, he talks of his epiphany and urges everyone to be free of all that we are enslaved to; and as he is talking, he is disrobing, until he is totally naked in front of everyone. With a blissful look on his face, his arms outstretched, he proceeds to walk out of the town naked to become a beggar, "like Jesus". It is a powerful scene that always gives me chills. To be that courageous and with such conviction. It's really quite beautiful and inspiring to witness. Of course, we're all capable of getting to that place, aren't we? A place of true freedom; of surrender to God's will; of shedding all the needs of the ego, and truly living from our true self. I have become more in love with trees as I've aged, and more in awe of how incredibly tall they can be and yet so firmly rooted. I love them in the summer full of leaves, and I love them in the winter, empty of leaves, but still standing so tall. As you said, "Every bare tree limb and leafless stalk is a living image of standing nude before the world, saying I am." As Mary Oliver says: "...and they call again. (the trees) "It's simple", they say, "and you too have come here to do this. To go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine."
Thank you Ed, for always reminding me of the deepest, most essential things that my humanness has the tendency to forget!
Ed,
Your reflection--and Mary's invocation of it in these words, "Just like St. Francis in that movie"--is profound, and I thank you for sharing. After describing this moving scene of St. Francis, you write: "we're all capable of getting to that place, aren't we? A place of true freedom; of surrender to God's will; of shedding all the needs of the ego, and truly living from our true self." Yes, and we "have come here to do this" to be like the trees and St. Francis, arms outstretched, "our place of true freedom," and in setting ourselves free, we might just set the world free from our bondage.
A question I have been holding these early weeks of 2024 is: what questions are we called to explore together here Beyond the Comfort Zone to avail us to this Great Work of surrendering, shedding, and emancipating our true self? This is an open question, and I invite you and others reading these comments to share questions you would find valuable for us to explore here.
With love,
Renée
I feel like my journey is an ongoing dance between seeking to experience my essential being without the "needs of the ego", and a long overdue ego development {as a vehicle for this physical world), ..as a woman who lived long under the influence of subtle and more obvious limitations imposed on me (that I colluded with) in a society still influenced by patriarchal definitions of who I should be.
Mary,
You give us to the delicate tension between purity of being and a healthy ego structure in a world where this is necessary. And what timing, given the reflections that came yesterday on the emergence of 'self' into the Modern world and lingering questions about self that we will explore in the weeks ahead. It could be said that the emergence of self follows the emergence of the Domination Paradigm and "patriarchal definitions."
With love,
Renée
The thought of being present and seen in the barest version of myself brings both joy and trepidation. The absolute joy of being fully me, without the wall and shields I have learned to use to protect my sensitive soul conflicts with the fear of my sensitive soul being overwhelmed by the world. I have learned there are places my soul is safe and thus try more and more to live in those spaces.
As always I love your voice in photo form.
Blessings dear one.
Thank you Erma..... I can really relate to your comment!
Erma,
". . . brings both joy and trepidation." I so appreciate that you bring both to recognition here. Would the joy be a response to the sense of freedom? Would the trepidation be a response to fear of rejection, fear for safety? (You name protecting your sensitive soul.)
Thank you also for these words: "voice in photo form."
Blessings your way, dear one, and with love,
Renée
Renee, I can definitely say that fear of rejection still drives my own "trepidation" to reveal myself more fully at times.
Mary,
Thank you for responding to this question.
Comments help guide what I write. . . .
With gratitude,
Renée
I am reminded in these images and Louise's comment that I am not only experiencing this literally "naked season", but also a very vulnerable "season" of my life as I enter elderhood. I "clothe" it often, but not as often as I used to, whether due to the fading desire to "cover my nakedness" that my ego has driven, or to simple exhaustion from the day to day requirements of this outer world.... and ... I am grateful to be arriving at an age where the inner urges to... "... stand still and be seen without the masks of beauty, of adornment... " are louder and more frequent, and delighted that as I let those go, the burden of my "baggage" goes with them! Always, always!... grateful for reminders!
Mary,
You have given us a beautiful reflection on the shedding that comes with age, the shedding of pretence, of edifice, and artifice; and on re-turning to the naked and true, vulnerable as it reveals us to be. And what beauty is the absence of adornment! Thank you for this.
With love,
Renée
These images are so exquisitely beautiful. I love getting glimpses of where you walk. Two things came to mind as I read this. The first is that I surprised myself by thinking (at least for a moment) that I might be more uncomfortable with everyone else's nakedness than my own. I had a vision of everyone in my busy neighborhood standing naked outside with their arms outstretched, and I thought, "Oh my. That might be a good day for me to stay inside." Gosh, I think that might say a lot about me. I'll have to analyze the hell out of this. The second thing that came to mind was an experience I had this evening on my sunset walk. As I headed back towards home, I heard sirens on a nearby street and then a pack of coyotes, even closer to me, joined in the song. The sirens and the howling fused together into an incredible, otherworldly sound. As you said, there is always wildness in home.
Jenna,
Here is what comes to me as I read your delicious honesty:
Adam and Eve hid. All the ways nakedness in its many metaphorical meanings evokes in us discomfort, the impulse to look away (out of sensivitivity and conscience, I suspect); the impulse to hide, to not too easily disclose what's behind the cloak.
I can nearly hear the cry of the coyotes in song with the sirens. This is so heartening to read. It cracks open a portal into the soul. Thank you for sharing.
With love,
Renée
Breathtaking sentiment. Photos are stark and bare yet filled with detail that is actually poetic. Beautiful!
Miki,
Your reflection on the details on the 'bare' as poetic gives me pause. Thank you for this.
With love,
Renée
Love it
Thank you, James, and thank you for your comment. It's wonderful to see you here!
I have stood naked this past week in writing on Substack about my failed adoption, stripping away artifice to share the truth of my experience. My words of grief invited critical comments from a handful of anonymous people, one of whom created the fake email shouldnothavekids@____.com in order to shame me in my own comments section. My writing has since moved behind a paywall for that reason.
I’ve never felt my bare, ice-covered limbs so exposed to the harshness of the elements. Thankfully, many members of my community responded with kindness and empathy, gracing my branches with sunlight.
Thank you, Renée, for this photographic essay that gives imagery to my experience, while hinting at the new growth to come with the warmth of spring.
Dear Liz,
Thank you for sharing your experience and how these images of winter-bare limbs reflected and soothed your own nakedness. They show us that all life is becoming, "new growth" always blossoming come spring. We forget in this 'summer' culture of ours that we need the bare bones of winter for that new growth to come.
Just days shy now of the mid-winter turn, I am wishing you ease in these hard days of grief.
With love,
Renée
Thank you so much, Renée. 🙏
Like my own heart had written it.
More reflections.....more mirrors...
It’s a strange place to land this place,
but nothing more truer.x 🌹🌬️🫀 🪶
Rose,
". . . but nothing more truer." Isn't this so?
I'm so glad these reflections and images sounded such resonance with you. Thank you for sharing. 🙏
With love,
Renée
Pipp, thank you for circling back in response to my question. I am so glad to understand.
Yes! So beautiful: seeing through the experience of the trees.
Safar,
I echo you. It's a lovely phrase, a lovely truism. As I shared with Pipp, perhaps there is no greater beauty.
Thank you for your kind words about the images, Safar.
With love,
Renée
Pipp,
This is lovely: "beautifully vulnerable." Perhaps there is no greater beauty. . . .
You say, "I have never thought that way around before." Will you say a bit more? I want to make sure I am following you.
Thank you as always for your comment.
With love,
Renée