My apologies to my readers for not posting much lately. Thinking about the publishing world and trying to “measure up” to just about everything I read got me really burned out. Sometimes it’s good for a writer to stop and smell the roses, so to speak, to remember why it is we got into this business in the first place. I still love writing, always have and always will, but it is not the words themselves that matter to me. Words are just the symbols. It is the meaning behind those words, that often elusive meaning, which fascinates me. The written word has the power to define our identities, both culturally and individually; it has the power to define our most cherished values and beliefs; it defines not only what we live for but what life is. Anyone who considers writing “out there,” as something apart from “real” life, is truly blind. Most of all, I love the transportive power of fiction. Life is short and as far as we know, we only live once, but through fiction we can know infinite lives.
Now here is a poem I wrote about the Ilmar. It expresses my sentiments not only for this fictional paradise but also gives a sense for what naturism means to me.
I like this a lot. It reminds me a great deal of my house in Maine. I'm curious what thoughts it might invoke to someone what has spent most of their life in the city. Anyone care to share?
I was born in Florida where I lived all my life, but I spent every summer in Greece where I got to explore ancient ruins, olive tree covered hills, and hidden beaches “untouched by man.” My affinity for nature comes from how I grew up. The name Ilmarinen is from the Finnish epic “The Kalevala.” I thought it fitting considering I love the beauty of the language in the poem, and, just like the Ilmar, the Finns are a little known culture in a corner of the world that just happens to be fairly open minded toward nudity (no bathing suits in the saunas). I imagine the cold temperate forests of Maine must be similar to what one would find in Finland.