Writings
|
September 2004
BURNINGMAN 2004A CARNIVAL FOR THE MIND
------------------ May all beings who read this be blessed. You are loved by a billion enlightened ones and by a billion more who are on the path. -------------------
[This story will probably not be what you expect.
It contains three lies, two factual errors, and one exaggeration.] ....CHAPTER ONE....IT WAS MIDNIGHT in the middle of the Black Rock desert. I was kneeling before a gigantic aquarium. My knees dug into the desert's endless beige dust. Behind the glass were not fishes, but rather hundreds of balls that floated in the air in such a precise way that they made a perfect three-dimensional grid that occupied the entire aquarium. What was truly captivating was that the balls were lights, blinking on and off in a variety of colors, depicting designs, moving shapes, and space scenes. Each ball could seemingly be any color it chose at any moment. The balls blinked on and off in blue geometric patterns. Then they were green and made flowing series of moving circles. Finally all the colors of the rainbow danced through the balls as they made waves, arcs, and dizzying spirals. As the colors moved from soothing cyans to dissonant reds, and as the patterns went from starry bursts to peaceful waves, I saw that the exhibit was something truly extraordinary. It was music for the eyes. There was no sound, but it was music. Kneeling there, I watched and watched as the silent symphony danced its melodies before my eyes. Eventually, my companions and I got up and continued across the vast open playa (as the desert here is called). I was with Dave, Rob, and Anthony. Anthony was an exuberant, young, dreadlocked black artist from Oakland. Rob was a slightly older and whiter artist, with black hair parted down the middle, from San Francisco. Dave was older and whiter still -- an engineer, physicist, and builder from Berkeley. While Rob and Dave were longtime burners (as Burningman veterans are called), Anthony was a virgin and I was at Burningman for only my second time. Above our heads, the moon shone yellow and nearly full. The Milky Way spread out up there like gauze. And seemingly every one of the billion visible stars was walking along with us. Smiling, we passed other brilliant art installations. Also, flying carpets, gigantic skulls, Egyptian caravans, and other 'mutant vehicles,' all dazzling with light and carrying dozens of delighted souls, moved past us across the playa. We began to gape and laugh happily at all the spectacles we passed. A sense of freedom pervaded the very air. We passed the Man, the enormous neon blue stick figure at the center of all the glorious sights of Burningman. He stood watch from atop a large domed planetarium, since the theme this year was "The Vault of Heaven." It was to be a year of seeing, touching, and feeling our tininess in relation to the vast Universe. We stopped to sit on large mushrooms. There were eight of the mushrooms, arranged like stools in a circle, each 15 feet apart, around an illuminated sign. The sign read "Imagine." The eight mushrooms glowed and pulsed with various colors. As we sat, we discovered the circle was the perfect size for meditation. Sitting on one of the mushrooms, one felt both alone and also part of a powerfully joined circle. We invited two sultanas who were dressed in red and gold to meditate with us. We continued around the playa for many more hours, getting lost on Jupiter (the annular streets of Black Rock City were named after the planets). It was enough just to admire all the other beautiful souls who passed us. It had been a year, but I quickly felt my body, heart, mind, and soul return to the vibrations of this alternate reality. I began to wonder why these other souls had also journeyed to this alternate reality. What fantasies were they living out? I stopped. What fantasies was I going to live out? If I were to live for only seven days on this plane, I thought, what would I do? Life here is short. I said a brief prayer to the infinite sky. Let me be open. Let me let go of all my worries and concerns from the other world. Let me see this world as it really is. Let me be open for this brief and intense dose of another universe. A man in a glowing hat stopped and gifted me a bracelet. I smiled deeply as I thanked him. "You're a beautiful spirit," I said, accepting his gift.
THE NEXT MORNING, the sun visited Burningman. It arrived, like us, to stay. Its yellowness was massive, blinding, and omnipotent. Its heat felt impossibly intimate, like cars surrounding you in rush hour traffic. I could scarcely squint tightly enough. It was only morning, the beginning of the long, slow daily inferno. My companions and I were camped at Camp Narc. Our structures and kitchen were mostly completed by early in the week. Unfortunately, on the drive out, the car Rob and I had taken -- a vintage 1987 Chrysler New Yorker Pimpmobile -- had broken down in a nowhere called Fairfield, California. The car hadn't just fainted from the heat. It had dropped dead. Permanently. We had had to put the pimpmobile down. We overnighted in a roach-ridden, crime-infested Fairfield motel, awoke at dawn, visited Rent-a-Reck, and finally arrived at Burningman late in the afternoon.
By the third day, as BRC (Black Rock City) approached its fated population of 30,000, Camp Narc was filled with nearly 60 bright, beautiful, hedonistic burners. We were a sight. One of the Narc masterminds, Resin, took a glance at my long orange skirt and orange mohawk, considered for a few minutes, then bestowed upon me the playa name I would use for the whole burn. I was now Hawkeye.
SOON AFTER my first delicious ride on the Titty-Totter, the day gave way to twilight. The end of the heat and light felt like a miracle, like self-forgiveness for an extraordinary shame. The whole playa seemed to sigh. We had survived. We humans had survived the brutal sun and dust. We, a species whose evolution did not prepare us to, had survived here. Our first camp dinner consisted chiefly of sublime Vietnamese crepes. All real food tastes heavenly on the playa, but the crepes that night, prepared primarily by two of the beautiful Narc women, Elizabeth and Sakura, were truly divine. The shrimp and vegetable crepes were served with large dark lettuce leaves, topped with a tangy orange sauce, and sprinkled with carrot shavings. The flavors, accompanied by the delicious anticipation that comes with every nightfall on the playa, was enough to make me shiver and smile with delight. The burn was kicking into a higher gear.
I had entered an orange marigold flower. The inside of the dome was awash in a palette solely of oranges and flesh tones. People were smiling, chatting, and glancing about. Incense was burning. My bare feet relished the soft, ornate carpeted floor. All my senses were soothed pleasantly. At the bar I received a gourmet screwdriver. "Hawkeye," came a voice. It was Brandon, the Camp Narc mastermind of the Titty-Totter. His playa name was B-Love. Lisa, the lead singer in a band whose members were all in Narc camp, was also there. We chatted for a while as the dome grew crowded. People were standing near each other, enjoying the human proximity and the glow of orange on everything. Some were even kissing. We soon met a woman with long, gorgeous blond hair. She was topless, but an island sunset scene was bodypainted across her entire torso. It was painted mostly in orange. Oddly, a man appeared and asked if I was her brother. I pretended I was for a while. I felt a hand on my mohawk. Turning, I found a woman stroking my hair. "What a nice shade of orange you have," she praised. I just smiled and purred as she petted my head. We looked into each other's eyes for a moment. The desire to kiss her was very strong. So I did. I kissed her. We curled into each other and kissed for a long, delicious moment. "You're a wonderful kisser," she murmured. She introduced me to her friend, a brunette. I looked her, and with our eyes we silently held the same conversation I had enjoyed with the first woman. Then we kissed passionately for many minutes. The three of us finally thanked each other, and I finished my drink. With my teeth I tore the flesh from the slice of orange at the bottom of the cup and chewed up its delicious flavor. Returning to the bar, I crossed paths with a strikingly pretty blonde. I complimented her and we looked into each other's faces a moment. I bent over and kissed her lightly on her lips. We kissed for what may have been a minute or an hour. "My first playa kiss," she smiled into my eyes. Her name was Deborah. It turned out she was also a virgin burner. "I'm honored," I replied. We were soon in each other's arms again, teasing each other's mouths playfully. Then some friends grabbed her. She was late for something and had to go. We hastily exchanged addresses. I was on Mercury (at 2:30). She was on Earth (at 9:00). After a few more drinks and some more making out in the rich orange glow, I noticed the dome had become packed with bodies. I needed fresh air. Just as I was moving towards the door, Rob entered. He didn't care to stay, so we left together.
ROB AND I BIKED OUT far across the playa, past the Man, to the Sacred Temple. It was a gorgeous complex of towers, and hundreds of other witnesses were admiring it and giving offerings with pens. To give an offering, one writes a message directly upon the tall, carved wooden structures. The Sacred Temple burns on the last night, so the offerings are said to be given -- and their wishes to be granted -- then, on the last night. Leaving the Sacred Temple, we pedaled under the vast night sky, through the Burningman landscape. We passed many wonders: an enormous inverted pyramid; a series of boards that lit up with patterns of colored light as people passed by; a gigantic white-pillared Greek temple; people dancing amid lit, exploding fireworks. Then there were decorated dance clubs, domes with glowing broomstick horses, laser fusillades, and roller coasters. We stopped into Sanctuary, a splendid Persian oasis-style tent. Atmospheric middle eastern music haunted the air inside beautifully. We sat on huge cushions and watched two women flipping coins. One of the women eventually got up and left the tent, so we went over to talk to the other. She was a young mystic, and she asked if we wanted to consult the Book of Changes. We nodded and began to consult the I Ching. She told me, first, to ask myself an inner question that I wanted answered. I did so, and then she handed me three silver quarters and told me to flip them eight times. I asked why she didn't use the customary sticks -- or even more exotic coins. She replied, "I like to use quarters. People shouldn't feel this is such a foreign, esoteric thing." When I finished flipping the coins, she consulted the book. "The broken and unbroken lines of this chapter," she told me, looking up my directive, "make an unusual and powerful symmetry." "You have a mountain on top of another mountain," she explained. "This means great strength. What this means is, you rarely have to exert yourself to share yourself. A mountain has -- and expresses -- its wisdom silently. One knows of its strength just because it is there. You do not need to -- you shouldn't -- cause ado or go to great lengths to share what you have or what you know. Maybe this makes sense to you and your question?" My question had been about my coming trip to Peru, and her words were much to think about. Rob went next. He asked an internal question and threw the coins. His reading, the woman said, was about pushing and pressing to get his way. "This works for you very well in day-to-day things and on more superficial attempts at something more. But for the more important questions, activities, and challenges on your road this will not be effective for you." He appeared surprised by the relevance and wisdom of the reading. We left the luxurious Sanctuary and returned into the night. The air had turned fiercely cold. We pedaled further across the playa, past the Chairway to Heaven, a chair on a huge column that takes witnesses 100 feet straight up into the air. Suddenly, a sand storm blew up and blinded us for several long minutes. When it cleared, Rob decided to head in for the night. I still felt seemingly bottomless energy within me. The life of the playa was running through my veins. I bid him goodnight, left my bike in camp, and left on foot. Walking alone, gazing into the starry sky, I felt elated. Dozens of ideas and philosophies rained down upon me. It occurred to me that one of the things that makes me the happiest is to learn about the world, and then to share my discoveries with others. Perhaps that is why I am writing this. Am I meant to teach? Perhaps. But the questions that remain are: 1. Is the wisdom that I gain in the world actually true, proper, useful, deep, interesting, or extraordinary? 2. And if so, how does one best go about sharing wisdom -- since many people most of the time don't care or need to learn? The answer that came to me was to remain open as I continue to walk the paths of the universe. I will be one of the people who does both care and need to learn. I will be a student so that I can be a teacher. Imbibing a deep lungful of the night air, I noticed my feet had taken me past the edge of the circular city of BRC. I had reached The Opulent Temple of Venus.
THE OPULENT TEMPLE OF VENUS had a large central courtyard filled with palm trees, fire barrels, and people dancing to deafening, pulsing electronic music. Instead of dancing, I climbed up into a tall tower on one side of the courtyard. I sat on a small platform overlooking the dancers and the rest of the temple. What does it mean, I wondered, to be a mountain atop a mountain? Crossing my legs, I began to meditate. I was aroused when the tower briefly shook. It creaked for a long moment. I became aware that many people had begun climbing up and down it. I also noticed a woman was sitting a few feet away from me. I looked at her and wondered aloud whether we should climb down. She shrugged, smiled, and said it still seemed safe. I crawled a half step over to whisper something in her ear, and instead of listening, she kissed me. And there we were, on our hands and knees, kissing. The tower shook again, more violently, so we did climb down. We danced. Then we walked together to the nearest row of bathrooms. I made use of one. She called to me to let me know where she was when I emerged in the dark. "Hawkeye, I'm cold," she complained with a smile. Her name was Nicole, and she wasn't wearing very much. I was cold, too. My plastic pants provided zero insulation. I suggested we walk to my camp, which was actually not far. So we huddled and cuddled each other as we walked through the cold. We climbed into my tent and warmed each other up some more. Kissing became euphoric. And then we were in our sublime nakedness, and our ecstatic friction heated the world like two matches rubbing heads. Hotter and hotter. The final union felt like a cool rain on a torrid afternoon. The night was still young. We refilled our water bottles (always a must on the playa), and I gave her a sweater. Delighted, we returned to the temple and found her friend, a man named Orion. And then the three of us biked across the playa. We stopped at Center Camp, a vast tent which looked a bit like the Cantina in Star Wars on Tattooine: hundreds of the wildest looking creatures, half-humans, and full humans dancing, singing, massaging, chatting, laughing. Some were doing poi fire dancing. Nicole and I walked a labyrinth, then drank hot chocolate. The three of us had a long discussion of the movie "What The $@#$@% Do We Know?" The film, now in theaters, explores the nexus between modern quantum physics and spirituality. Orion and Nicole soon grew tired. Since I had decided to stay up and attend my first Burningman wedding, I bid them farewell, and they returned home. I returned to my camp to get warmer clothes. Then I biked out to find the temple where Elizabeth and Sakura, the two women who had made the Vietnamese crepes, were getting married at dawn. They had built their own marriage temple in a place far out on the outer playa. I found their elegant temple, but dawn was still an hour away. So I sat down alone near it's wooden columns and watched the arrival of sunrise. I had seen many sunsets on the playa -- some glorious for their explosive beauty, others exciting for the night they christened -- but this was my first dawn. I gazed skyward, long and grateful. As I watched, the heavens blushed slowly from black to dark blue, decimating the stars. I turned and saw the mountains on the west edge of the playa emerge purple and indigo against the lightening sky. The expansive dusty playa around me faded from black to dark brown. I breathed deeply and smiled at the magical cycle. The sun, our mighty overlord, was about to return. Darkness was quietly getting up and leaving. Still, whole minutes passed with little change, as if nature were pausing in contemplation. I waited in content anticipation. I could now see the distant domes across the playa; their garish, megawatt, multicolored lasers and beacons now looked superfluous and silly. Gazing back at the western mountains, I could now discern their lines and textures, the fissures in their majestic posture. And then it happened. The hot orange lip of the sun peaked between two crags in the eastern peaks. As if a stage director had called out, 'cue the lights,' everything happened suddenly, almost instantaneously. The playa was lit. It was morning. Gray hung on the edges of things, but now that darkness was running swiftly away to hide. Only the cold chill in the air remained.
....CHAPTER TWO....ELIZABETH AND SAKURA'S marriage temple was a Yoni Temple, a shrine to femininity and female sexuality. It looked like a wave floating above the playa. The roof was made of sheets of plywood fastened together in a way that they seemed to flow together, rising and falling, sweeping up and down and tracing a wave through the air. Inside were a low platform, a vestigial hearth, some urns, and a collection of branches and flowers. Before the light intensified, the temple was surrounded by people, many of whom I recognized from Camp Narc. My companion Dave also appeared in the earliness. Elizabeth and Sakura both looked stunningly beautiful in the bending light of dawn. And as the day was born, Nora, another Narc woman, dressed as a priestess, orated to the assembled witnesses: "We are gathered here together..." She spoke about love and celebration and union. Then two female performers pranced over the playa before the priestess: first, a poi fire dancer who twirled lit flaming torches on chains in a mesmerizing dance; second, a modern dancer performed an erotic dance wearing just a tunic made of small metal discs. Then the splendid ceremony began. Sakura's father and sister were on hand, and both spoke. Nora spoke again. Then the two women read their vows, both of which were breathtaking in their honesty and beauty. A tear ran down my cheek as I witnessed their deep love and their declarations of devotion. The tea toasts began. Nora had a mug of mushroom tea that Sakura's sister poured, and people took turns taking the mug, drinking, and offering their wishes to Elizabeth and Sakura. One by one, people took turns with the mug. Watching them, my mind reeled with admiration. How close our world is to perfection! We only need to make a single, simple, internal switch. We only need to act out of love instead of fear. It's so simple. I felt another tear on my cheek. Every moment, we decide to act from one of these two core instincts, and almost everything we do in the darker, colder reality we live in most of the year seems to originate from fear. Why? Endlessly we antagonize, insult, deceive, compare, fight, and kill each other. We do it out of the simple belief that there isn't enough. We're scared there isn't enough warmth, love, time, or money for us all. We struggle, and become greedy. But there is enough! Look around! We can share. Best of all, sharing feels better than hoarding. And if we share, we will overcome and forget that deep fear. The greed that devours our souls will dissipate like smoke. And we will make that simple, sweet, necessary switch. We will act from love and trust instead of fear and greed. Everything will work. The whole world will relax, breathe, cooperate. The planet's many nations will be at peace within a few years. The time for this switch has come. Today. We choose today. Perhaps this reality here at Burningman has been created by our own consciousness as we prepare for our coming evolution. The beautiful tea toasts continued. I longed to say something, to show my appreciation, but what could I say to these women I barely knew? After perhaps 25 people had taken the mug and shared their wishes, I finally accepted it and said aloud what came to me. "May your love grow and grow." The sun ascended another few degrees. The wedding ended. The brides returned to camp in an art car. I rode my bike back home to my tent and collapsed in exhaustion.
I AWOKE SWEATING. I had slept three hours. But my tent had become, as they all do by midmorning in BRC, a sauna. I stumbled out and looked for a place to sleep: somewhere both shady and open to the breeze. I found suitable cushions in the dust under a vast tent across Mercury from the Titty-Totter. B-Love had the megaphone and was mercilessly haranguing the happy crowds queued up for a ride and a view. I collapsed on the cushions and drifted off immediately. I awoke some time later to find the sun gazing full-bore upon my face. There was a gap between the tent's roof and walls, and I was being fried alive. My lips felt sunburned, and as I hastily jerked out of the sun and into a more secure shade, I felt a sinking feeling in my belly. My lips have always been sensitive and particularly prone to sun blisters and fever blisters. Raising a finger to my lips, I could feel a sun blister already forming. I lay back down and closed my eyes. I prayed that my body could heal this in its own way -- to spread the burn around my face rather than disfigure my lip. There would be no more kissing if I sported a big nasty blister on my lip. I felt exhausted and worried as I drifted back to sleep. Deep down, I didn't have much hope. Instead, for a moment, I considered this reality I lived with -- that I, unlike others, get these frightening blisters. Why? Everything in our reality is negotiable. I know this even in the other reality, and here on the playa it's screaming obvious with every brilliant, impossible, crazy art creation I pass. That is why this alternate reality is so powerful. It teaches us that our assumptions about reality are mostly false, and that, if we contemplate a moment, these assumptions will disappear. We only have to stop clinging to them fearfully. Again, it's fear that holds us back. We create our own lives out of either fear or love. So I can, and I will, learn no longer to fear blisters on my lip. I awoke late in the afternoon. The one thing I knew was that I was embarrassed to go find Deborah or Nicole. Rob said my lips didn't look too bad, but I looked in the mirror and disagreed. I didn't want either of these woman to think I was unattractive or, worse, infected with some strange disease. So I agreed to go with Rob to a party a friend of his named Evan was hosting in Cosmic Giggle. I was feeling depressed and frustrated. Was my Burningman already over? In the daytime, I would be even more scared of the sun than most, and at night I'd be unable to connect in that beautiful way with passionate beings of the opposite sex. Of course not, I told myself, sadly. Burningman is about much more. I'll just be depressed the whole time. I laughed. It was still four days before Monday, when we were planning to leave. It was only Thursday. Wait! A flicker of hope. It was Thursday last year, too. Thursday was the day I almost died of dehydration last year. I have to die again on Thursday. There's some symmetry to this. And last year, the best days were the final days. I sat quietly at Cosmic Giggle. The camp had a remarkably tall statue of a woman covered in growing green sprouts. They called it their Chia Goddess. These lovely folks were actually growing a goddess in the desert. Rob and I explored the nighttime playa with the Cosmic Gigglers. We all suited up in white body suits that made us look like space scientists, and we told the beautiful souls we encountered as we traversed the city that we were observers from another planet here to abduct earthlings on whom to conduct experiments. We stopped by Thunderdome, where ferocious, physical, hand-to-hand Mad Max-style battles took place to the delight of bloodthirsty crowds. We also went to a funhouse called 'Trip to Mars.' Then we followed masses of people and art cars to the burn of a huge, four-story windmill out on the open playa. The towering conflagration burned bright orange against the black sky. I went to bed early.
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, I went out with Rob again. It was, in the other reality, his birthday. He was 27. He had met a woman named Beka and wanted to frolic on the playa with her and her sister, Tracey. He convinced me to eat some mushrooms with the three of them and then to explore the magic of the city together. So the four of us set out. We stopped in a cat's head dome, and then in a cowboy saloon. Then we found ourselves at a huge red Karaoke party. I was finding Tracey cute and interesting, but then so was Rob, it seemed. Indeed, Rob seemed both stoned and acting strange. He was confused as to which woman he wanted to be with, and I felt confused as to why I was out with them at all. It occurred to me that I enjoy the scintillating wonders of BRC most freely alone. Plus, I was thinking, my lip blisters look really atrocious. Still, it would be ridiculous to leave them. We sat watching the karaoke singers. They were generally OK, and a few were funny. Only two got gonged (there was a brass gong outside for passersby to cut short any distasteful karaoke performance). But I still sat there wondering, why were we watching karaoke? Everything changed when Celeste took the mike. This black-haired beauty sang "Dream On," by Aerosmith, as if it was her final act on earth. She danced and sang magically, enjoying herself like a goddess on earth, giving herself to the song. Her performance became a phenomenon. Passersby stopped dead in their tracks, approached, and then began dancing around the little stage. This only encouraged her to new seductions. Dozens of witnesses of all descriptions surrounded her, lured by her passion. I was carried away, too, signing and then grinning and laughing and finally dancing up there with everyone else. Caught in the moment, I was freed of every desire and worry for a few extended seconds. Leaving the karaoke (though Rob was considering taking the mike next), the four of us pilgrimaged to the Man. We waded in among the other pilgrims. The Man's gigantic neon stick-figure blueness was perched on an observatory, and embedded in this large observatory were dioramas in which small plays and dramas were occurring. One of the dioramas was vacant, so the four of us climbed up into it. We found a secret room with some props and costumes, and on the spot we invented an impromptu scene. We were aliens from a distant land. The two women and Rob sat, facing out, while I stood behind them, juggling three furry balls. Rob spoke to the small, gathering crowd in an alien tongue he had quickly learned. It sounded like random beeping. I paused in juggling and gazed out at the playa with a horrible, terrified expression. Then I swiftly resumed juggling, with fear in my face, as if my life depended on it. At one point, I stopped and improvised an oration in exceptionally slow, deliberate words: "Where we come from," I explained, pausing for long moments "...life is very short.... We each live.... seventeen seconds.... but within each of those seconds....there is a diamond.... and in that diamond is a crystalline line.... a connection.... to consciousness.... and so.... seventeeen seconds... is not such a short life after all...." A man-lizard in silver paint climbed up into our stage and examined us. He crept and slithered around the diorama. Ignoring him, I resumed juggling. Eventually we darted out of our diorama and away from the Man. We laughed euphorically as we jogged across the playa, recounting our performance. We walked on, past Cosmic Giggle, and ended up in the Hippocampus. We made little stars to hang on the walls. Already hundreds of people had painted pre-cut felt stars with glitter and glue and pinned them on the walls. Many had written wishes and comments upon them -- entreaties for world peace or longings for true love. The four of us were discussing our families, and I felt inspired to wish mine well. I wrote in glitter on my star, "Family is everything." Also, since Rob was falling asleep at this point, I wrote a birthday wish for him on another star. I pinned it up too. It said, "Rob is emperor of all." He smiled. We wandered around more, warming ourselves at fires, flossing and eating at Midnight Popcorn Palace, and talking to the lord at the Direct Line to God phone booth (the line was busy for me, but Rob got through and learned God speaks with a valley girl accent -- she told him to open up more "like, ohmigod, to everything that's so awesome like right there around you.") The night had grown frigid by that point. Oddly, or perhaps perfectly, the question of who would go to bed with whom was left unresolved. We all went to sleep in our several, separate beds.
I did another hour of meditation and yoga. And then I went to find Deborah.
....CHAPTER THREE....I BIKED TO EARTH, looking for Deborah. She had said her camp was at 9:00, but I searched for her there on the 9:00 radial street, and she was nowhere to be found. I asked around, but I wasn't even able locate her camp. So I finally returned to Camp Narc. Strangely, when I got home, as I passed the Titty-Totter in full swing, Rob told me Deborah herself had come by looking for me. Just an hour ago. "I told her you would meet her when the sun went behind the mountains," Rob told me. "At her camp. Earth & 9:00. She said her camp has an orange awning and an RV." "Really?" I asked. Rob nodded. Deborah had come! It had all worked. The Healing Space. My intention. I was creating my reality. Everything suddenly seemed so simple. I saw for a fleeting moment that the same simplicity, the same power and creativity within us, exists in all realities -- this one and the other. My meditation, my intention, my vision -- I had transformed the world by changing my place in it. I took a long, blissful ride on the Titty-Totter. Up and down I danced to the music, gazing far out over the playa, to the mountains and into the azure sky. Then I helped other intrepid souls to get on and off and to ride their own way to ecstasy. Finally, after enjoying the camp dinner of grilled vegetable burritos, I went to find Deborah. I knew now I would find her. Of course I would. It was Saturday. It was burn night. The greatest party/exhibition/carnival/festival on the planet was about to climax. All souls were called together. She was napping when I found her. The sun had just set, and she seemed confused, in a post-nap haze. But she was pleased to see me. It took a while for her to get ready, but then she was and we departed together across the playa. I explained to her frankly why I hadn't come looking for her. She looked at my lips and, while not exactly pleased, laughed. "You should've come anyway," she said. "It's cute and touching you didn't!" Arriving at my camp, we prepared for the night. Our neighbors -- a group of Irish Vikings -- were mixing powerful mushroom tea, and after drinking some with them, we also ate some more mushrooms. Finally we walked in awe to the Man. The atmosphere was electric. 30,000 people were convening for a colossal union of the elements of earth, air, and fire. Deborah and I sat there watching, laughing, and holding each other. The joining commenced. The fireworks exploded. The Man's blue arms rose into the air in a gesture of communal celebration. And then He burned. The spirits of the Fourth of July and New Year's Day wrapped together and joined us. It was a ritual of renewal and independence. The air rushed into my elated lungs as if from another galaxy. Deborah and I began to run and dance around the roaring inferno along with the rest of the beautiful burners. The heat was unbearably intense, yet the desire of the burners to be near it was just as fiery. To be caught between these two forces was to choose and to know either fear of untimely immolation -- or abandonment of the self to the greater will of a mass of humanity. Last year, my first burn, I had chosen the latter. This year, with a companion connected to me at the wrist, I chose the former. After a single pounding lap, we stood back from the fire, mingling with the thousand bright and beautiful souls. Many minutes later we drew close again. I knew I needed to burn some of myself, to immolate a few atoms, to consummate the festival of the new year. I cut a strip off of the bottom of my celebratory, tropical-colored, long skirt, and then left Deborah for a moment. I stepped through the masses and knelt there, alongside many others, before the fire. I knelt holding the strip of cloth to my head. With my forehead touching the playa and the heat of the fire burning into my mohawked scalp, I let go of my need to convince others. I let it go. I let myself forget, forgive, and forsake my need to decide anything for anyone else. About politics or philosophy or music or anything. All the times I'd tried to drive home a point I'd felt an uncomfortable energy, a violence, rise in me -- and for an interminable moment those times played out before me in my mind. I no longer needed it. With the cloth in my fingers, I bent back and gazed into the sky. I created a new reality. I bowed again, tossing the balled red fabric into the fire. I chanted for a few moments to connect my will with my body. And then I watched the fire consume it as it consumed everything in its roaring orange hunger. I got up and left the hot, lovely fireside. Deborah asked and I told her about it, about Garlic & Grass and the Green party and politics and everything. She listened. She nodded. "If people want to stay stupid, what can you do?" she asked with a smile. "They want to be ignorant." We both laughed. It felt exquisite, liberating, and soothing. Then we were off roaming the playa again. We wandered past a haunted house. We played on a life-size checkers board. We sat for a while in a red-lighted, ornate, carved wooden house where ghoulish-looking people were eating normal-looking brownies. In a quiet corner of the red-lit place, I strummed a guitar I found and Deborah told me about growing up in Belgium and her studies in theater and music in San Francisco. Later, we danced on a pirate ship that took us across the playa. We shared rice krispy treats with some delighted new friends at a small bonfire. And, finally, we stopped in the Hookahdome, which on the inside looked and felt like an opium den: people were smoking exotic flavored tobaccos (plus whatever they brought with them), while others were sleeping or cuddling on luxurious cushions. In the middle of the Hookahdome lay a huge persian carpet upon which an astonishingly beautiful woman and man performed an extended, acrobatic, erotic dance. After watching the dance and taking a long rest, Deborah and I left the Hookahdome and danced at an outdoor club. We danced as the Goddesses of Love Project Unlimited danced on platforms above us. We danced and the mingling feelings of freedom and connection were delicious. Like a cool drink of water. Our bodies fell together with the same ease and energy as that night in the Orange Dome.
DEBORAH AND I JOURNEYED to the Sacred Temple the next morning. Thousands had written their wishes on it as offerings. Now it would burn at nightfall. Faced with the beauty of the offerings, and with the way they blessed and decorated the very columns and walls of the Temple itself, I cried warm easy tears. What else is there to do when the beauty overcomes you? It looked and felt like a manifestation of the switch -- these actions originating from trust and love rather than fear and greed. It felt like a touch of evolution.
The blessed twilight came. Deborah and I left camp together. We met her friend Ben and hiked back to the Sacred Temple. Whereas the burn of the Man happens amid huge human passion, release, outcry, euphoria, and celebration, the Sacred Temple burns in solemnity. We sat, waited, and then watched quietly. Slowly, red tongues of flame engulfed the towers of carved wood, licking upward and outward, sending skyward all of the offerings to loved ones, deceased ones, distant ones, sick ones, and divine ones. Like lovers, the fire and the smoke finally kissed the offerings and wishes and made them true.
I bartended for a while on the Stoop, too, and was gifted beautiful items and deep gratitude. I felt liberated, open, free, divine. The awareness of two realities, I thought, as I wandered past a gigantic Lite Brite and stopped to play, clearly implies to the human mind the existence of an infinite number of realities. This awareness, in turn, allows us to live closer to our essence. For if our essence is not realized in one reality, why attempt to change our essence? Why not do the easier thing -- change our reality? And that is the question I took home. Home, this world that might be a dream or a fantasy I get to live before I return again to reality.
As I said last year, you should not believe me. This is Burningman. You should know that my words, like butterflies flying around the mouth of a cave, cannot actually enter the experience of Burningman and describe it from the inside. How can I describe with words the intense feelings of vitality and creativity that overcome a weak human being's body and mind in the desert when surrounded by light and fire? The only way to know is to go.
AND IF YOU GO: A QUICK GUIDE FOR THE VIRGINWhat is Burningman? Concisely, Burningman is an intense dose of an alternate reality. For most humans, the experience will hover between intense and too much. But if you find yourself frequently feeling less than at home in the reality of mainstream contemporary American culture -- and you're willing to take a few risks -- you will experience something powerfully refreshing at Burningman. Yes, you should go to Burningman. It is, in fact, one of the best things happening on the planet right now. People are awakening to something real and deep, something that lives within all of us, just below the surface. Go with your dreams and fantasies intact, rather than your expectations. Go as a child. Go for the full week, since you'll need the first two days to adjust physically and the second two days to adjust mentally and emotionally. Go and live on the playa, not in an RV, as some are tempted to do. With every barrier you leave behind, you will taste more deeply the alternate reality and gift more fully a new reality to your soul. It will pay many dividends. Go, and taste that simple, sweet, necessary switch. On the playa, you will act from love instead of fear. Do not go, however, if you do not want to live in a desert for a week. Know that the playa is very hot in the day and extremely cold at night. The weather does vary somewhat, too, of course, and full whiteout dust storms that make it impossible to do anything but breathe (and even that can become a challenge) are sudden and normal at any time of day. The dust will get in everything, including your food and clothes, and will not leave willingly. Your skin will dry out. Yes, it is an intense dose of an alternate reality. If you go, absolutely do not forget to bring the things the Survival Guide tells you to bring. This is not a resort. This is an experiment in radical self-expression and radical self-reliance. But what's most important is to go as a participant, not as a spectator. Be a burner, ready to burn. And burn. It's easy. Bring ridiculous and spectacular costumes so that you may become something else you (also) really are. Be an artist as well as a witness. Be a giver of spirit as well as a receiver. Bring your artwork and the means to make more. Make gifts. Gift others. And of course, don't bring any precious thing or part of yourself you want to bring back home to this reality in its original condition. You and your possessions will be changed.
|
