post-burn report.
So I got back from Burning Man...
... and immediately failed to post about it, despite the fact that I felt like I couldn't post anything else until I did. There's method to that madness, though.
Not that I was somehow magically transformed by the fire. I'm not that Burner you talked to at a rave circa 2000. But ritual has power, and at Burning Man I touch that power in a way I haven't since adolescence. So I came with my baggage, already soaked in fuel, and sometime between the greeter's hug and the last big fireball to ignite the Man, I gave it to the flames.
The year and a half before the burn had already made me an older, wiser, sadder, and yet more content person. I just hadn't really accepted that. I felt self-consciously wrong. I kept waiting for the existential funk to lift. But the funk was unacceptance, and fear of change. I stopped fearing, and the funk was gone.
Compared to a year ago, I have fewer friends, and next year I will have fewer still. Now I accept this. I'm just not that good at maintaining too many close relationships; some of the rest are bound to attenuate, and some people will voluntarily decide to disassociate from me. That doesn't mean I have less place in the universe (nor does it mean I don't love and treasure everyone that I have ever called a friend).
Compared to a year ago, I dream more pedestrian dreams. But that means I get to walk them, and when I get to the end of them, I make more.
Compared to a year ago, I weigh a little more and drink a little more. But I don't rush, and I enjoy the sky, and when I just sit down to think, I find myself at peace. And songs dripping with emotion put me off as much as they used to.
Hello!
... and immediately failed to post about it, despite the fact that I felt like I couldn't post anything else until I did. There's method to that madness, though.
Not that I was somehow magically transformed by the fire. I'm not that Burner you talked to at a rave circa 2000. But ritual has power, and at Burning Man I touch that power in a way I haven't since adolescence. So I came with my baggage, already soaked in fuel, and sometime between the greeter's hug and the last big fireball to ignite the Man, I gave it to the flames.
The year and a half before the burn had already made me an older, wiser, sadder, and yet more content person. I just hadn't really accepted that. I felt self-consciously wrong. I kept waiting for the existential funk to lift. But the funk was unacceptance, and fear of change. I stopped fearing, and the funk was gone.
Compared to a year ago, I have fewer friends, and next year I will have fewer still. Now I accept this. I'm just not that good at maintaining too many close relationships; some of the rest are bound to attenuate, and some people will voluntarily decide to disassociate from me. That doesn't mean I have less place in the universe (nor does it mean I don't love and treasure everyone that I have ever called a friend).
Compared to a year ago, I dream more pedestrian dreams. But that means I get to walk them, and when I get to the end of them, I make more.
Compared to a year ago, I weigh a little more and drink a little more. But I don't rush, and I enjoy the sky, and when I just sit down to think, I find myself at peace. And songs dripping with emotion put me off as much as they used to.
Hello!