Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
2. There Is No ME in COMMUNITY, But Almost
My 2nd post in a series about the 25th anniversary of Burning Man
a.k.a. my virgin burn. Scroll down for the 1st post if you don't understand how blogs work...haha.
Knowing about Burning Man is like having a personal recommendation from a likeminded friend. It's advertised solely by word of mouth. With yoga, meditation, spirituality workshops, and a focus on environmentalism, BM draws people who are on a spiritual quest of sorts. World-famous DJs and musicians aren’t announced ’til just beforehand, so there aren’t amateurs going just for the rave. It seems almost everyone's there for a higher purpose.
The sense of camaraderie one feels at Burning Man is not just heartwarming but is critical for survival. In the high desert, you're contending with extreme heat, lack of resources, and a 4,000-foot elevation that makes it easy to feel out of breath and lightheaded. (Bonus: you get drunker, faster.) Dehydration and exhaustion are real risks while biking or walking on a thousand degree day. Black Rock City (BRC) is a huge circle 1.5 miles in diameter--and getting stranded far from camp is common. Bikes are “borrowed” and lost, and freewheeling on an art car might land you on the far side. Bikes, golf carts, and cars get stuck or need repair, and people run out of necessities. These issues are dealt with as a community. For the most part, it's ok to burst into someone's campsite and ask for water or a snack. Burners hang signs declaring “out of water” or “need rv service,” and they just might thank their savior with a delicious meal, a bottle of Jack, or a massage. One camp I visited was the Filling Station, a rest stop on long journeys. They hooked me up with lemonade, a quesadilla, and a misting, and offered public tents for anyone who needed to sleep. Working together, everyone gets what they need.
Even the art projects encourage cooperation. My first night out, I noticed a young guy holding a beer and sitting on a wooden contraption. He was so perfectly still that I thought he was part of the installation, waiting to jump out at me or something. Finally, I said, "Hi, do you...what are you...oh, is this a teeter totter?" My participation was required! No ordinary playground toy, it swiveled 360-degrees while also moving up and down. He lit up so happy that he was screaming (hallucinogens probably played a role) and his laughter was totally contagious. No one cared that he spilled beer all over or that he could've gotten hurt when he fell off.
BM's focus on radical self-expression means burners are allowed to do almost anything--climb on structures
or art installations, spin fire, tear off all their clothing, have sex--at any
time. In the Mad Max Thunderdome you can even beat up your
friends, spouse, and anyone who annoys you before a bloodthirsty crowd. Swinging in
harnesses, gladiators battle with foam bats while an MC heckles them. Three things you can’t do in BRC, though, are sell drugs, sleep
on the roadway (Briar discovered this), or lay on top of a moving RV (learned
when police stopped us on entry. Ha).
Everyone I met was enlightened on some level. We talked quantum physics, discussed life-changing books and movies, pulled oracle cards, cried with strangers, fell in and out of love instantly, and told random people they have beautiful souls. The 2nd day, during an orgasmic breathing workshop hosted by the Erotic Rock Star, we attracted an audience of about 30 cheering us on. I had a huge wave of emotions come up that I didn’t feel safe releasing, especially not as some kind of spectacle for bystanders. A woman beelined over to me and said if I needed to move through anything, she’d hold space for me or give me a hug or talk or listen or whatever. I had needed permission and safety, which she’d given. So I let out a startling scream, beat the shit out of someone’s pillow, cried big sobs, yelled at people to stop looking, and it was perfect. A guy sat down, looked at me with these intense blue eyes, and said in a European accent, “You need a hug.” He could’ve tried to hook up with me, an emotionally vulnerable half-naked girl who's into tantra. But he knew not to. He hugged me, and left.
It was because of this sense of community that I felt safe riding to BM with
people I’d never met. I was the only girl in a carful of guys and at no time
did I feel uncomfortable about it. In fact, I was party to our picking up a
hitchhiker on the way home. Our driver had just said that he had wandered on foot down this same desolate road years ago when someone was nice enough to give him a ride. Suddenly, a young hitchhiker appeared. Now was time to repay the favor. The kid was a student from France who was hiking solo through the mountains. He rode with us 3 hours while I slept next to him,
unconcerned about a total stranger in my space.
Since getting home, I’ve found an immediate connection with anyone who’s ever burned, because they get it. Even people who've never been to the playa work on art projects, planning, and fundraising throughout the year because they so love being a part of this community. Burning Man is not just an annual event, it’s a lifestyle, a state of mind, a philosophy, and a club of permanent membership. Burners for life, yo!
Knowing about Burning Man is like having a personal recommendation from a likeminded friend. It's advertised solely by word of mouth. With yoga, meditation, spirituality workshops, and a focus on environmentalism, BM draws people who are on a spiritual quest of sorts. World-famous DJs and musicians aren’t announced ’til just beforehand, so there aren’t amateurs going just for the rave. It seems almost everyone's there for a higher purpose.
 |
| Photo by Hugo Groening |
The sense of camaraderie one feels at Burning Man is not just heartwarming but is critical for survival. In the high desert, you're contending with extreme heat, lack of resources, and a 4,000-foot elevation that makes it easy to feel out of breath and lightheaded. (Bonus: you get drunker, faster.) Dehydration and exhaustion are real risks while biking or walking on a thousand degree day. Black Rock City (BRC) is a huge circle 1.5 miles in diameter--and getting stranded far from camp is common. Bikes are “borrowed” and lost, and freewheeling on an art car might land you on the far side. Bikes, golf carts, and cars get stuck or need repair, and people run out of necessities. These issues are dealt with as a community. For the most part, it's ok to burst into someone's campsite and ask for water or a snack. Burners hang signs declaring “out of water” or “need rv service,” and they just might thank their savior with a delicious meal, a bottle of Jack, or a massage. One camp I visited was the Filling Station, a rest stop on long journeys. They hooked me up with lemonade, a quesadilla, and a misting, and offered public tents for anyone who needed to sleep. Working together, everyone gets what they need.
Even the art projects encourage cooperation. My first night out, I noticed a young guy holding a beer and sitting on a wooden contraption. He was so perfectly still that I thought he was part of the installation, waiting to jump out at me or something. Finally, I said, "Hi, do you...what are you...oh, is this a teeter totter?" My participation was required! No ordinary playground toy, it swiveled 360-degrees while also moving up and down. He lit up so happy that he was screaming (hallucinogens probably played a role) and his laughter was totally contagious. No one cared that he spilled beer all over or that he could've gotten hurt when he fell off.
 |
| Photo by mccullagh.org |
Everyone I met was enlightened on some level. We talked quantum physics, discussed life-changing books and movies, pulled oracle cards, cried with strangers, fell in and out of love instantly, and told random people they have beautiful souls. The 2nd day, during an orgasmic breathing workshop hosted by the Erotic Rock Star, we attracted an audience of about 30 cheering us on. I had a huge wave of emotions come up that I didn’t feel safe releasing, especially not as some kind of spectacle for bystanders. A woman beelined over to me and said if I needed to move through anything, she’d hold space for me or give me a hug or talk or listen or whatever. I had needed permission and safety, which she’d given. So I let out a startling scream, beat the shit out of someone’s pillow, cried big sobs, yelled at people to stop looking, and it was perfect. A guy sat down, looked at me with these intense blue eyes, and said in a European accent, “You need a hug.” He could’ve tried to hook up with me, an emotionally vulnerable half-naked girl who's into tantra. But he knew not to. He hugged me, and left.
 |
| Rad group from San Diego called Super Kids! |
Since getting home, I’ve found an immediate connection with anyone who’s ever burned, because they get it. Even people who've never been to the playa work on art projects, planning, and fundraising throughout the year because they so love being a part of this community. Burning Man is not just an annual event, it’s a lifestyle, a state of mind, a philosophy, and a club of permanent membership. Burners for life, yo!
Monday, September 12, 2011
Weekend at random...
What's going on up in heya? It's 3AM and I'm restless, and lonely. And according to my calendar, it's now Mon morning and nothing cool's happening. So I'm reflecting on my weekend...
Bass overload!! Totally impressed by the Bassnectar/Z-Trip show and its fun-to-watch crowd. Z-Trip was kinda ADD, making surprising switchups, sometimes after only a few seconds. Bassnectar makes interesting song choices too, playing Tool's Sober, Loveshack by B52s, and mashing up Blur's WhooHoo with Don't Call Me Baby. Goth boots rocked but dancing in them 5 hours reminded me yet again why I always wear sneakers.
Saturday I ran into a coworker and we had sage fried chicken benedict at Tractor Room that weighed like 3 pounds. We tried pomegranate and tangerine mimosas, though it was hard to choose among lavender lemon, elderberry, and St. Germaine. Later I had a crazy yummy 2nd breakfast of the day, at Brians'. Since I'd been drinking I got eggs and cheese of course, and tried the chicken and waffles, mmm...
After sleeping maybe 2 hours, I got ready for the Chargers game as usual but couldn't make myself go, also as usual. I missed the last two.
But I was fantastically high on oxytocin hormones, so I brewed a big cup of french vanilla coffee and set out, 40 mins late. First I forgot my glasses. Then I came back for my badge. Then I dropped my coffee and it soaked my porch and doormat and spilled off the balcony all over my neighbor's door and plants. Haha. 50 mins late. Bam.
At the game I gave a million hugs to everyone I hadn't seen since last season, and made good money(!). Hit the wall around 2pm. And when all I wanted to do was go home, the trolley lines were massive and it took an hour to get home. Me=miserable.
But hey, I'm the ultimate sensation seeker. I want to feel. It's why I live my life like I do, and that's ok. People who don't get me don't stick around, and that's ok too.
It confuses and frustrates me when people say I'm going to "settle down" one day. Doesn't living on my own, working, paying off cars, opening retirement accts, and volunteering mean I'm fairly stable? Simply having an active social and travel schedule shouldn't relegate me to the status of eternal partier. And if settling down means marriage and kids, then no, I probably won't. I'm going to be the 65-year-old (who looks 40) heading up the party cruise, hopefully with likeminded companions.
Do you think Chris Brown could whip Lindsay Lohan into shape? Because the internet told me *against my will* that they've been flirting with each other. As supposedly reformed criminals known to lash out at their loved ones, that match might actually work. :o
Bass overload!! Totally impressed by the Bassnectar/Z-Trip show and its fun-to-watch crowd. Z-Trip was kinda ADD, making surprising switchups, sometimes after only a few seconds. Bassnectar makes interesting song choices too, playing Tool's Sober, Loveshack by B52s, and mashing up Blur's WhooHoo with Don't Call Me Baby. Goth boots rocked but dancing in them 5 hours reminded me yet again why I always wear sneakers.
Saturday I ran into a coworker and we had sage fried chicken benedict at Tractor Room that weighed like 3 pounds. We tried pomegranate and tangerine mimosas, though it was hard to choose among lavender lemon, elderberry, and St. Germaine. Later I had a crazy yummy 2nd breakfast of the day, at Brians'. Since I'd been drinking I got eggs and cheese of course, and tried the chicken and waffles, mmm...
After sleeping maybe 2 hours, I got ready for the Chargers game as usual but couldn't make myself go, also as usual. I missed the last two.
But I was fantastically high on oxytocin hormones, so I brewed a big cup of french vanilla coffee and set out, 40 mins late. First I forgot my glasses. Then I came back for my badge. Then I dropped my coffee and it soaked my porch and doormat and spilled off the balcony all over my neighbor's door and plants. Haha. 50 mins late. Bam.
At the game I gave a million hugs to everyone I hadn't seen since last season, and made good money(!). Hit the wall around 2pm. And when all I wanted to do was go home, the trolley lines were massive and it took an hour to get home. Me=miserable.
But hey, I'm the ultimate sensation seeker. I want to feel. It's why I live my life like I do, and that's ok. People who don't get me don't stick around, and that's ok too.
It confuses and frustrates me when people say I'm going to "settle down" one day. Doesn't living on my own, working, paying off cars, opening retirement accts, and volunteering mean I'm fairly stable? Simply having an active social and travel schedule shouldn't relegate me to the status of eternal partier. And if settling down means marriage and kids, then no, I probably won't. I'm going to be the 65-year-old (who looks 40) heading up the party cruise, hopefully with likeminded companions.
Do you think Chris Brown could whip Lindsay Lohan into shape? Because the internet told me *against my will* that they've been flirting with each other. As supposedly reformed criminals known to lash out at their loved ones, that match might actually work. :o
Friday, September 9, 2011
1. The Burning Man Playa, a Place of Instant Manifestation
Burning Man can't be dumbed down into a blog or two, but here's my attempt at a series about the 25th anniversary of BM a.k.a. my virgin burn. Rites of Passage theme was appropriate as I was devirginized and released my past...
Anyone who's had the fortune of visiting the playa in Nevada knows it's a mystical place unlike anywhere else on the planet. It's a flat, dry silt bed devoid of life for hundreds of square miles. No vegetation, no animals, few insects. Days well over 100 degrees and nights down to 40 in summer, snow in winter. Yet for a couple weeks each year, this harsh environment is infused with the energy of loving, beautiful, open-minded people who build a non-commerce community there. Gifting is the spirit of Burning Man.
Something I found immediately observable is that once your attachment to money, competition, and the me-first philosophy is ended--and you start giving from the self--everything you need just gravitates to you. I wanted to pop my BM cherry wholeheartedly and wholebodiedly, through volunteering and donations. I participated in the virgin ritual at the entrance, dropped down in the dust and professed my love for the playa. The playa reciprocated by manifesting what I desired from moment of arrival. At a granny cafe where ladies in grey wigs and nighties poured coffee and tea, I was contemplating why I'd brought 3 packs of bubble gum Orbit and no mint flavors. (It's little things that end up mattering there!) Randomly, a granny opened a can of peppermint sticks, came straight over, and offered me the first before passing the rest around. Another time while rocking out to a young, insane dubstep DJ named Hudson, I wished I had his demo CD. Hudson then got out two CDs, ran them over to me and the hot girl I was dancing with, and jumped back on the decks. Not to mention that whenever I needed water or a misting, I had it, plus root beer floats, s'mores, quesadillas. The only thing I wasn't empowered with was ice. It was too heavy, too far, too long a wait, too often.
The playa plays a huge part of the Burning Man experience and must be respected both energetically and physically. Burning Man isn't advertised and is held the first week of college classes so as not to attract immature partiers. And its Leave No Trace mantra must be followed by all, or the event could damage the habitat and get shut down. You can't pour hand-washing water or spit toothpaste there; you have to save it in buckets. Cig butts, glitter, anything not naturally of the playa is forbidden MOOP, or matter-out-of-place, that must be carried out. Which reminds me why I love burners (this is coming from the girl who founded and ran a neighborhood recycling club at age 9)...several times I found myself chasing a loose feather or wrapper, only to have someone else grab it before I could. =) And one night I picked up a sand-packed lighter that was dead. The last day when I couldn't find mine, the lighter I intended to throw away suddenly worked--another gift!
Consistently, the playa supported me, rejuvenated me, and forced me to consider me and what I needed, be it electrolytes or a bike to borrow or another slathering of sunblock or a siesta. Mad love to all the virgin burners who got it this year, to all those who repped San Diego, and to the teams who help restore the playa...that's how the playa continues to love and restore us.
Anyone who's had the fortune of visiting the playa in Nevada knows it's a mystical place unlike anywhere else on the planet. It's a flat, dry silt bed devoid of life for hundreds of square miles. No vegetation, no animals, few insects. Days well over 100 degrees and nights down to 40 in summer, snow in winter. Yet for a couple weeks each year, this harsh environment is infused with the energy of loving, beautiful, open-minded people who build a non-commerce community there. Gifting is the spirit of Burning Man.
 |
| Aerial view |
Something I found immediately observable is that once your attachment to money, competition, and the me-first philosophy is ended--and you start giving from the self--everything you need just gravitates to you. I wanted to pop my BM cherry wholeheartedly and wholebodiedly, through volunteering and donations. I participated in the virgin ritual at the entrance, dropped down in the dust and professed my love for the playa. The playa reciprocated by manifesting what I desired from moment of arrival. At a granny cafe where ladies in grey wigs and nighties poured coffee and tea, I was contemplating why I'd brought 3 packs of bubble gum Orbit and no mint flavors. (It's little things that end up mattering there!) Randomly, a granny opened a can of peppermint sticks, came straight over, and offered me the first before passing the rest around. Another time while rocking out to a young, insane dubstep DJ named Hudson, I wished I had his demo CD. Hudson then got out two CDs, ran them over to me and the hot girl I was dancing with, and jumped back on the decks. Not to mention that whenever I needed water or a misting, I had it, plus root beer floats, s'mores, quesadillas. The only thing I wasn't empowered with was ice. It was too heavy, too far, too long a wait, too often.
 |
| Granny Cafe takes over skate ramps to race their walkers |
 |
| Photo by Scott Haefner |
Consistently, the playa supported me, rejuvenated me, and forced me to consider me and what I needed, be it electrolytes or a bike to borrow or another slathering of sunblock or a siesta. Mad love to all the virgin burners who got it this year, to all those who repped San Diego, and to the teams who help restore the playa...that's how the playa continues to love and restore us.
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