everyone has their own experience

For years people who go to Burning Man have been encouraging me to go. Usually they're simply surprised that I have never been. Many have told me about the kinds of personal revelations that they experience there. They describe the community, the art, the way that their entire world view is altered through the experience. They talk about the freedom, the sex, the physicalness of it all. People think I'm already a burner because the way that I see the world and the way I live my life basically fits into their new world view.

I'll let you in on a little arrogance I have: When I would hear from some really (or formerly) straight-laced person about how BM changed their views, I would think that was really great for them, but that I didn't need BM to do that for me. I am able to challenge myself right here in the city. And some of what they're talking about is simply what I have always believed and what has always set me a little apart. I retained a frustration that the kind of community and freedom which was celebrated at Burning Man stayed on the Playa or stayed somehow locked within communities and still hasn't managed to seep into the general world. And so I couldn't really see why I "needed" to go.

And now I'll let you know about a little problem I have: In preparing to go to BM this year (although not only then) I had a hard time knowing that I was going to do something and spend money on something which was entirely just for fun. It felt self-indulgent, selfish. And therefore unnecessary. I have a tendency to feel guilty and wrong whenever I do something which is unproductive, which is just for me. Something which does not benefit others, improve my body/mind or which is simply hedonistic & solo. (The "solo" is a big thing here -- if I am with others then that alone makes anything ok).

And so I left for Burning Man with a resolve to avoid taking on responsibility, to immerse myself in an environment in which everyone is supported in saying exactly what he/she wants to do and then doing it, to give in to my impulses. And I expected no revelations or transformation. It was a challenge. I wanted to see what it was like to spend a few days just listening to me.

The release for me came in the form of a sandstorm. I had been there for less than 24 hours. I went with my group out on our art car, an exposed trailer decorated a la rainforest with a DJ set-up. We were out on the Playa when the wind gathered speed and whipped up the dust bringing a total white-out which lasted for hours. And I did exactly what I wanted to do: I danced. We had a dance party in the middle of a storm and I spun and stomped and reveled in the rawness of it all. I was covered in dust, running in the sun, sweating, and grinning wildly under my dust mask and goggles.

That night I danced exuberantly in the open air and rode my bike all over the playa. I lay down in the dirt, stared at the stars, exulted in the hugeness of it all.

On the second day, when we were hit by another intense white-out, I was left alone in the camp and I went walking. I searched for the right place to be. I passed people holed up in their shelters, taking refuge in Center Camp, covering themselves up. It started to rain. I walked in the middle of the street. I joined a group dancing outside on the Esplanade. When the wind died down a double rainbow stretched across the playa from the Man to the mountains and then became clearer and sharper until we could see the elusive violet and it looked like a triple rainbow. I danced away from the group and towards the rainbows.

And so it continued. I had no revelations of community. I loved the art and wanted everyone there to find a way to bring that creativity into their everyday worlds without fear. I talked with a guy during a dust storm who was wearing a cute black skirt and no top who confessed he had arrived wearing a polo shirt and cargo shorts. I told him he looked really cute and fantastic. I hope that his wardrobe in the outside world will at least contain more colors now. But the overwhelming feeling for me was one of comfort and familiarity. I understand why they say "Welcome Home."

But more than anything I remembered. I remembered that I have always loved being physically connected to the earth. I remembered the joy that I have when I go spelunking and end up covered in mud. I remembered why I am always taking off my shoes, particularly when I eat. I remembered why I strip the moment I get home. I remembered the feeling of sun on salt covered skin and falling asleep in the open air without even a tent wall to separate me from the breeze. I remembered why I am always opening windows and turning off air conditioning. I remembered stories about my dragging a bucket outside and standing in it to take a shower in the rain when I was very young. I remembered spending hours and hours as a child holding on to trees and staying very still so I could feel the vibrations between myself and the forest. I remembered why it is that my body is powerful.

And I realized that the dangerous part of me that I have been afraid of is not that I am sexual. I have felt the pressure to control that which is animal. And what I take away from the week is that there is no reason for me to be tamed.