B u r n l o g

And how does one describe color to the blind? There is no context if you haven’t seen it yourself - and so it is with Burning Man.

Black Rock City has etched itself indelibly on the deepest parts of my heart, leaving a coating of fine alkaline dust in my soul. I can’t even begin to tell you what it felt like to be there, but I finally understood what it means to be free. The collective energy of 39,000 people all doing exactly what they want to be doing is enormously magical and overwhelming in the best way possible. One of my favorite feelings - looking out at the surreal carnival landscape of the Playa at night - art, lights, music, and games as far as the eye could see - and brimming over with gratitude - they made all this for us!!!

So many moments I hope never to forget - so many lessons learned - so many amazing people. And I left with the question burned into my mind - what if our only responsibility was to take care of ourselves, be playful and creative, and be loving to the people around us? What would we create?

I have never felt as beautiful as I did for that entire week I just spent on the Playa. It was like all the body shame and fear just melted away as soon as I arrived. Didn’t matter whether I wore yoga pants and a bra while working during the day, or decked out in snakeskin dresses and fishnet armwarmers at night, I felt like I was on fire. Performing was a whole new experience - I sang my heart out. And I got so much loving, positive feedback from both friends and strangers, despite the challenges…

How wonderful was that? To feel like the queen of the world, and even better, to not feel any barriers about telling all the people how amazing they were. Now I want to hug people on the streets in the default world and tell them how fabulous they are. I saw all kinds of bodies on the Playa - lots model-thin in furkini’s, it’s true - but as I’ve always known in my heart and was able to see in truth at Burning Man - it’s YOU who makes yourself beautiful. If you feel beautiful, you are beautiful. I saw grandmothers who were rocking the bodypaint, I saw pleasingly plump girls in tutus pounding rebar in the sun. I saw people wearing chicken suits and people wearing nothing. And everyone was so happy just to be there and to be doing the thing they loved that it made them shine.

Forgive my gushing - I have just never felt so free and fearless and powerful for so long in my life. For this virgin, it was beyond exhilarating, and I’m now trying to figure out how to bring some of that confidence and joy into my daily life as well. How can I keep the judgements of the default world from clouding my vision again?

Well, it’s just one of the lessons I’m trying to remember as I fall back down the rabbithole into the daily grind. As the inevitable homecoming depression set in, I kept telling myself over and over that I’ve got it good - we seem to find that kind of unadulterated joy in our little family relatively frequently just by making music and playing together, and we’re lucky enough to live in a place where the Burner community is strong.

And really, all I have to do is close my eyes and pull up an image of the glory that I felt on the Playa, and I feel like shouting for joy.

Extra special sloppy kisses to my beloved Baby Seal Club bandmates and three favorite men in the world Stache, Mahnkae, and Fudo - for not only taking the journey with me, but making my experience there such bliss.

I’ll have more stories soon.

Choklit

I’ve been struggling to understand Burning Man enough to explain it to those not blessed with attendance this year.

Maybe most will throw that old “half empty” glass at me when I begin to describe it in terms of difficulty. Yet, I find it the quickest route to my gleeful why and how of Burning Man.

After all, Burning Man really is no baby stroll in the park. You must be prepared for all kinds of extreme conditions and have a lot of water and gear. You may not get past the gate if you can’t prove you’re prepared.

Honestly, you’ve gotta bust your ass to get out there, break your back (sweating over rebar and straining under temporary structures) to get your camp set up in the desert heat/sand storms/rabid dust devils/occasional rain (& immolation), all the while dealing with the crankiness of acclimating to high desert and severely dusty conditions.

It’s a bitch really. For most, trekking there is an exhausting march and leaving too can be hard as separation anxiety sets in while the single car exodus from Black Rock City for many folks exceeds 10 hours!

Yet, the glorious days in between make it worth the effort. In fact, the pain and difficulty are essential to the experience. The struggles along with sleep and food deprivation, all day everyday physical exertion, occasional (or chronic) drug ingestion, and sun and weather bombardments, they all slap you silly into a sort of cult-like high.

The misery delirium at the outset forces you to give in and accept a new reality where devoting your time, energy, and love is normal, accepting others’ gifts are done so readily without the need of immediately returning the favor, and art and human expression in any form is a beautiful necessity.

And there are so many beautiful people in a state of freedom, openness, and ecstasy out there! Nobody cared what you looked like or were doing as long as you were doing something fun and creative and generally being happy. Why not strive toward that in our daily lives?

I practically forgot about my birthday on the Playa. It seemed meaningless and was lost in more important activities like which costume to wear tonight and how far out to the deep Playa can we ride, or just what crazy art and people will we connect with after leaving camp (and in camp too)?

What a wonderful, irreverant, blissed-out time! Here’s an article from Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist, that catches the magic:

One More Vital Pagan Orgy
Sex, drugs and glow sticks: Our columnist survives yet another Burning Man, perspective intact

Oh sure you’ve got your giant floating neon dragons and your epic desert sculptures and your hissing Mad Max-ish art cars shooting flames 400 feet into the air, and every single thing everywhere smells like some combination of sweat and dust and marijuana and urine and fire and tequila and glue.

And sure there’s your rampant glittering nudity and writhing all-night dancing and improvised kitchen-sink costumes and sudden vicious unrelenting alkali dust storms that could choke a cow and make your throat feel like it’s been rubbed with sandpaper and your eyes dream of saline solution. This is pretty much a given…

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