Clad in the Sky

I received an invitation from Mary the other day, inviting me to one of her pagan spirituality circles. It is a group which consists of about twenty or so women (and one or two men who occasionally show up and look vaguely uncomfortable)who are mostly Wiccan of some variety or other, some with shades of Native American spirit-leanings.

I don't know most of the group very well, but I've enjoyed a few intense drumming circles and some excellent "toning" sessions. "Toning" is a form of sound meditation where you just open up your throat and let all sorts of wild music come out with a group. I felt self-conscious the first few times I did it, but it really is quite beautiful and very grounding.

Also, Mary usually does a guided Goddess meditation and they are fabulous and magical. She writes them herself and is busy compiling them for a book of pagan meditations. The one exploring Baba Yaga still gives me shivers when I think about it.

Anyway, I am on this group's mailing list and the invitation I got was for a goddess celebration that would be celebrated "sky clad".

"For those who don't know", added Mary's message unhelpfully, "that means 'clad in the sky'." In the nude, in other words.

She went on to say that some may not feel comfortable with this, and for those people it would be a perfect opportunity to come and try it anyway. It would be females only invited.

Well, life's an adventure and I guess one should cavort nude with witches at least once in a while, but alas I got the email message two days too late. So the matter of naked cavorting was decided for me.

On the other hand, I already have fairly firm opinions about outdoor nudity. Now skinny dipping's okay in a shady cool lake, but this event was planned for an open field (private property belonging to a nice pagan lady named Chris) late in the afternoon on a summer's day which turned out to be a blistering thirty celsius or so.

Two words: Sun. Bugs.

There ain't enough sunscreen in the world to cover me under those conditions. I don't tan. I burn to a crisp, then revert back to white. There is no tropical glow in between. I am of Irish ancestry and my skin suffers from the Celtic Curse. I don't actually burst into flame when exposed to sunshine but I've considered it.

Next, bugs. Chris's field is lovely for Maypole dances at Beltane, and has a labyrinth made from oyster shells that glow in the moonlight when you walk it on a crisp winter's night....but it is right near a river where bazillions of bugs hover in clouds waiting for just such a tasty sky-clad bunch.

Sorry, Mary. Maybe I'll see you next full moon. It'll be dark out and I'll have my clothes on. :)