So on that bright, clear, late afternoon at Esalen, after our kindly young host Ryan proclaimed “Let’s get naked,” I left my swimsuit behind as we took the short walk down a hill-protected pathway to the therapeutic pools. It helped that my friend Liz, the other female guest in our party, had decided not to wear a suit either. She and I had joked earlier about gravity being our enemy. But, bitch, at least you’re leaner than lean, I’d thought. And at least you’ll blend in. I was certain to be the only mulatta thunder-thighed wonderwench in the place.
Not even towels were required – fresh towels were in copious supply at the entrance to the changing room area. I still insisted on bringing in my own personal extra-large beach towel. It was the sole towel (security blanket?) in the cosmos, I was certain, that could wrap around my body completely. Sure, I’ll walk while naked. But naked under my towel. Fully be-toweled, at least until I stepped in to the water . . .
The changing room and bathrooms were all dual-gender. So the first big challenge was to strip in mixed company. I did this as quickly as possible, silently cursing and laughing at myself for having worn those ugly-but-comfortable “bloomer-style” panties. Then we were required to take showers before entering the pools. Good idea. But that meant being without a towel in bright naked sunlight, at least for a few moments -- because the shower room was wide-open and exposed to the sky. I held my breath and dove into the spacious warmth.
At the shower-fount, the first person to look right at me, face to face, with soothing, loving eyes, was Liz. And of course she did not gawk or stare or laugh. She simply tilted her head and shrugged slightly, flashing a smile full of mirth. Well, here we are; we’re doing this! I smiled back. And giggled. Like the little parading naked girl within, gleeful, glowing . . .
In an instant I felt free and light. I was—we were—naked in public, and the world had not ended. No one was going to run screaming from the baths. No one was really looking at us. In fact, no one was noticeably checking anyone else out – and to do so in such a bright and open environment would have probably seemed rude. I could relax.
I could relax. At least for an instant, that is. As soon as I left the shower room, I automatically reached for my big security towel.
Then there was one disconcertingly funny interaction. After my shower, I had to retrace my steps to the pools’ entryway to find the toilet stalls (deciding it would be best to approach the ensuing event with an empty bladder). On my brief trek back through the changing room, a man, a naked stranger, walked up to me and asked, “Are you Natalie?” I answered simply “no.” And he continued asking this question of each and every woman in the changing area. It looked like there was no Natalie there. And I wondered, what was all that about? Had he been sent to get a message to someone named Natalie? Did he have a blind date he was supposed to meet at the Esalen pools? (5:00 p.m. Saturday –blind bathing date with Natalie …) Or, poor thing, was he simply nearsighted?
I am nearsighted, so I kept my glasses on and searched the pool area for familiar faces, since everyone in our party had already gotten in the water. Esalen’s outdoor therapeutic pools are perched on the edge of a rocky cliff, right over the Pacific Ocean, lending expansive views of sea, sky, and coastline. Each pool, formed from cut stone, is large enough to fit about 8 people comfortably. I found our pool when I recognized the funky hair pattern on my husband’s back. Everyone waved me to come on in. So, tah-dah, off went my super security towel. I stepped down into the bath and was submerged in the deliciously hot water in about two seconds.
I had put myself through a whole lot of rigmarole for some very brief moments of outright nakedness. Sitting in a pool made of dark stone actually provides a good amount of cover. Once submerged, no one can see much of anyone’s body, except for the parts that are above water: shoulders, neck, face. Thus, being naked under the water at Esalen is quite similar to being naked under clothing.
Well – except for one, or rather two, things. My breasts, twin elephant seals, kept buoyantly surfacing, causing my nipples to poke up and bounce above the water line. Apparently there were only two counter-actions I could take to prevent this caricature-like effect: submerge myself, head and all, under water—or use my upper arms to keep the bulk of my breasts tucked in and under the pool’s surface. Not having any scuba equipment on hand, I chose the latter. It was a bit like holding two beach balls down, but I managed to keep my nipples from constantly announcing themselves. Not that anyone was really noticing or that anyone was bothered by the appearance of nipples on such a generously beautiful day. This was simply my trained-and-ingrained polite good-girlishness rearing its . . . pointedly be-nippled head …
So we all leaned back and soaked under the wide clear sky. We had chosen an incredible part of the day: sunset and dusk and moon-rising time. Folks are warned not to stay in the water for too long -- a necessary disclaimer for people who have health problems that could be aggravated by hot-water soaking. Since we were able to control the temperature of the water and keep it in the comfortable and safe “bathtub-hot” range, we disregarded the warning and remained in the pool for hours, watching as the sky darkened and the constellations slowly emerged. And floating there naked in a womb full of stars, tucked in a cradle of wild earth, drunk on warmth and steam, we talked of everything and nothing in particular: evolution, philosophy, friends found and lost, dark chocolate, the stillness of the sunset, Arcturus and Orion, the possibility of seeing whales. As the hours passed, we were slowly lulled into silence by the rhythmic thundering of the sea. The pool was a dream in which we lingered, a forgotten song about the most elemental things: damp hair, night sky, stretches of sand, soft feet, happy thirst, fresh air to breathe . . .
The silence was broken at one point by meteors streaking across the sky. Would the graces of this night ever let up? A few people exclaimed and pointed up at the falling stars, and I remembered the magical phrase one must say at such moments: “Make a wish!” As if there could be anything to wish for there in that complete, sumptuous moment.
How could I have thought that there was ever anything to want or anything to fear in this wild, holy world?
Nekkid Part Three is here.
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