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| Photo By F.Felix |
I started off trying to write something that would make sense of the experience, some sort of frame work to give me and a reader some bearing about the event. But I quickly realized that what I had written was all wrong. My time at Burning Man had nothing to do with logic. No, it was more like a free spinning wheel, where one hilarious instance, led to the next. Trying to give semblance of time was impossible also, because time itself became rubberized, stretched around the edges by a batch of dark matter I firmly believe exists there on the playa. Any effort to put Burning Man into a box, or to give explanation would just be wrong. The following ramblings come from ten days of living on the playa, these are just observations.
"John what are these drawings?" "I don't know, just stuff I think up." Okay, well it's time to read, not draw. I'll-just- take- that- folder- till after class." "Yes Mrs Wilson."
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| Photo By F.Felix |
At some point early in the week, while bicycling around the Playa at night, I
cross paths with a giant, fire breathing party bus that is pumping out disco
music. As I ride into the night the Bee Gees are stuck in my head. These next lines
were accompanied by either Night Fever, Stayin’ Alive, or Jive Talkin'.
Young buff men being ogled by young buff men.
Breasts of all types – small, large, firm, jiggly, hanging, tattooed, and others: almost non-
existing to round and delightfully full.
Naked men with, without tan lines. Dust on their bare ass cracks. Why. Question mark.
Naked men with, without tan lines. Dust on their bare ass cracks. Why. Question mark.
Sparkle Ponies all make-up and attitude. Look at me. Not you. Eew.
Towering brown mass, roiling. RUN! Naked man on BMX bike, his tent flattened.
The next scenes came with John Denver singing Rocky Mountain High.
A lantern fish with blaring
house music and shit pumper truck pass on the road, no wind stirs the dust.
Lantern fish snorts fire. Shit truck’s eyes narrow, ignores the fish while
humming his song.
White ruthless heat. It will
be hotter tomorrow someone says. Impossible, I just saw the sun slam into the
shitters at 3:30 and F.
I bought a tandem bicycle so that I would be able to give
people a ride. One day after spending time exploring the playa, I was peddling
home and was nearly back to the city when I saw a young woman striking out
across the playa in the heat of the day. It was blistering hot and the wind had just started to stir the dust, but my gift was to give people rides. I circled back and asked if she would
like a ride to wherever she was going. She accepted, told me she was going to
the temple to put up a remembrance for a friend who had died recently. We rode in silence for a bit as I let this sink in. The
night before I had spent a couple of hours reading the dedications placed in
the timbers, which would eventually be burned.
Spiritual
talk of the heart. Dead family and friends. Young and old alike memorialized
burned atTemple. Emotions well up in the dark. Tears for people I’ve known for
twenty-eight seconds
As much as Black Rock City and the antics of Burning Man was a continuous source of amusement, it occurred to me that something else was at work here. After several days of waking up and living on the baked playa mud, it became clear that the Playa, with its heat, dust and
wind is a personality to itself. From then on I capitalized Playa in my
writings because it was no longer just a dry, flat ancient lakebed. I came to view the Playa as a Being of multiple dimensions, with a mischievous personality. One moment Playa is a lover with a kind touch, the next a rascal with claws and fangs.
Large strong clouds fill the
sky, then there is wind and dust, the Playa sends a message of its presence, it
says – You can be here, but it is I who created this stage. I set the
conditions, I wrote the rules. I have been master here since Time formed this
land. For ten million cycles I brought the water, along with insect, raven,
coyote, antelope, wolf, and bear. I watched them have young and I watched them
teach their young. I watched them kill and I watched them be killed. I watched
them gaze to the distance and sniff the air. I watched them observe me.
Then Movement came and I
dried the land for a million cycles, I made it ready for the next creatures. And
when the time was right I introduced myself. I am the cracked baked mud
on which you dance, celebrate and fuck. I am the black roiling clouds and I am
the lightning within those clouds that seeks. I am the wind and I am the dust in the wind.
I prey on weak tent stakes and the stupid amongst you. I am fire. I am rain and
I am the drops that splat on your naked shoulders. I am Playa. I made this
stage. I brought you here. I watch. You observe.
From the moment I turn on to hwy. 34 I fall in love with the place. Strange, bright lights far off in the distance mark the entrance into another world, another reality. It is the place where those imaginative childhood drawings meet the articulate skill of being an adult. Burning Man is the place where decades of experience from around the world come to be realized, released, then burned to the ground. Black Rock City is loving, dirty, irreverent, brilliant and completely mad, all in one moment. Light, sound and smell combine to assault the senses, but it is an attack only if your mind stays closed. If you allow habits of judgement to frame your mind's perceptions, you'll miss out.
Burning Man is a trick, a huge wonderful practical joke, played out with a cast of seventy thousand. Even it's location is a poke in the eye to the necessary, ancient act of building one's city near water. The founders drove into the desert, planted a flag and have spent the last twenty-eight years laughing with those who see the joke. And because BRC is located on an ancient dried lakebed, under a blistering desert sun, a level of self reliance, coupled with generosity makes this experience all the more rich. Everyday, all around me, strangers offered me shade and water, or food and spirits. I am reminded of the Raramuri phrase - Korima, what I have, you have. And Kuira-ba, we are one.
Playa watches, what does it see?
Compassion, passion, vanity, love, jealousy, generosity, judgement, and joy. Grown man in pink tutu.
Playa listens, what does it hear?
Thumping music, gasping sex, gentle vibrations of taunt string, laughter, and angry yelling. Twenty thousand yapping, howling dogs at sunset.
During the day the dimensions of Black Rock City and the Playa, are truly entrancing. But it is at night when the true strangeness occurs.
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| Photo By F.Felix |
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| Photo By F.Felix |
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| Photo By F.Felix |
Naked BMX bike guy emerges from his tent, packs, pulls on shorts and rides off. Home?
By Monday morning BRC has started to empty. All around me are the sounds of clanging tent stakes and poles. I wonder why so many people are drawn to this inhospitable place. Yeah for sure the scene is over the top. The art work at night scattered across the Playa, combined with all the crazy lights, flame throwers and throbbing music is unlike anything I've seen. And lets not forget the Man and Temple burns. They are so irreverent, and thrilling, but at the same time spiritually fulfilling. On the other hand it's hot as hell, and the dust gets everywhere. So with coffee cup in hand I walk over to my neighbor and put the question to them. I ask them to boil it down for me. Why do you come out here year after year? After a long moment to think she answers, "it feels like home." Her statement triggers a wave of strong emotion in me and I find that I can't speak. I know exactly what she means. Finding home, that place where we fit, where we are welcomed to be who we are, can be a difficult task. Every year, if just for a short period of time, Burning Man supplies a city where acceptance can be experienced. Where sharing and being kind amongst complete strangers is the normal way to act.
To my friends who made this all possible, thank you very much.
