Naked and Free

Naked and Free

She has light brown hair, a seductive smile, and the most engaging set of hazel-green eyes I’ve ever seen.  It’s the kind of engaging I can’t ignore—the kind that makes me want to engage too.  Because she’s mysterious.  And I’m curious.  And I need to know more.





Yet, I do my best to avoid making eye contact.  So I stare down at the pool table and pretend to study my opponent’s next move.  But only long enough for her to look the other way, so I can once again catch a glimpse of magnificence.

I do this, not because she intimidates me, but because I think she may be the girl Chad met last night.  A wild night that, he said, “involved two bottles of port wine, chocolate cake, and sweaty bed sheets.”


Then, just as her eyes unexpectedly meet mine, my opponent groans, “It’s been your turn for like five minutes.  Ya planning on going sometime tonight?”  And the girl walks gracefully away.

So I continue to wonder… “Is she the port wine and chocolate cake girl?  Gosh, she doesn’t look like that kind of girl.”  But I don’t wonder too long because Chad enters the room and says, “Marc, there’s someone I want you to meet.”  So I follow him into the kitchen and we bump right into her.  “Oh, Angel,” Chad says.  “This is my buddy, Marc.”

And I smile from ear to ear, and give off a little chuckle…

Because she’s not the port wine and chocolate cake girl.  But also because I spent the past twenty minutes thinking about the port wine, and the chocolate cake, and the sweaty bed sheets.

Hours later, the party begins winding down.  But the band is still playing, the two painters who have been painting a wall mural all evening are still painting, and Angel and I are still dancing.

“Are you tired?” I ask.

“No,” Angel says.  “Dancing is my outlet.  When I dance, I transcend myself and the doubts that sometimes prevent me from being me.  This evening has been enchanting, just dancing with you and being me.”




So I twirl her around.  And the drummer keeps drumming.  The guitarist keeps strumming.  The singer keeps singing.  The painters keep painting.  And now we’re the only ones dancing.

As we continue to dance, she says, “I feel as if we’re naked.  And not just you and me, but the drummer, the guitarist, the singer, and the painters too.  Everyone left in this room is naked… naked and free.”

I smile and tell her that I agree.  “We are naked.  We are free.”

As I know we don’t have to take our clothes off to be naked.  Because moments of passionate presence flow into each other like port wine flows into chocolate cake.  And if we let them, these moments can expose us completely, and continuously.  And create climaxes that don’t even require sex.

Because a true climax has little to do with orgasm, and everything to do with the passion, love, and devotion we choose to invest in someone or something.  In the same way, nakedness has little to do with how much clothing we wear, and everything to do with our awareness in a given moment of time—an unfettered, present awareness that frees the mind and allows us to truly live the moment for all it’s worth.

After a few more songs, Angel asks if I’d like to join her out on the front porch where it’s quieter.  “Just so we can talk about life,” she says.

I give her a little wink.  “I love life in this crazy world!  It is crazy, isn’t it?”




She smiles.  “Yeah, a world in which we can be naked with our clothes on and experience continuous climax without intercourse.”

“Because instead we can achieve both with music, or paint, or dance, or any form of avid self-expression,” I add.

“You got it.  Even the sincerity in this conversation is beginning to work for me,” she says as we step out the front door and into the moonlight.

*****

I tell this short story mostly because I need the reminder.

I need to be reminded of the beauty and sweetness of passionately absorbing oneself into the present moment—into the people, the dialogs, and the priceless little events that exist there.

I need to be reminded of what it’s like to be “naked” and “free.”

Because too often, amidst the hustle, I forget.

I forget to pay attention.

I forget to be grateful for the opportunity directly in front of me.

So I tell a story about a night from my distant past that I can remember and recite in vivid detail simply because I was completely present at the time.

I wasn’t distracted.  I wasn’t in a rush to get somewhere better.  I wasn’t resisting things, or trying to change them in any way.

I was 100% there.

And, as a result, I allowed that night to change my life.

Now, think about how this relates to YOUR life.




The floor is yours…
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