So we went to Burning Man, back in 2007, but didn’t realize that we didn’t blog about it until now. I wrote about it and our trip to the Redwood Forest the other day, so I’ll just post it here instead of duplicating work. I would write about it specifically for this blog, but I have so much writing to do for many things right now. Enjoy.-Liz
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Burning Man, an art and music festival mish mashed with outrageous costumes, thousands of nomadic subculture dreamers, cracked alkaline desert floors, techno hippies, geodesic domes, and the bonfires and flame dancers that illuminate the most colorful of dreamscapes and darkest Nevada nights. Imagine Mardi Gras meets desert rave with a side of Salvador Dali. This cosmic gathering takes place every year during the last week of August leading up to Labor Day weekend.
I had always wanted to go to Burning Man, but was never in the country when it happened. Many of my friends had been going for years, glorifying and stoking my senses of what it would be, and it was on my list of things I had to do at least once in my life. I decided to go because I wasn’t sure if I would have this chance again.
This journey into the heart and heat of Nevada’s raw wilderness and the Black Rock Desert with Sam was as uncharted as our new relationship. It was a new land to navigate, sometimes with unexpected elements that couldn’t be marked by a mere roadmap. This would be Sam’s first big American road trip and he was a Burning Man virgin, too. It was to be his first American festival, first camping experience sleeping in a tent and first time in the Nevada and California desert lands. It would be our first road-trip together, an essential test for any relationship in my life. I had tried to travel with different partners in the past, but things always fell to pieces. Traveling isn’t just a holiday breeze. It takes work. It opens your mind and heart in new ways and leaves you vulnerable and tenderized, exposing the best and worst of your soul. I knew that my life partner would be the one I could easily travel with, the one who could flow like water. Maybe Sam was it.
We hopped into Sam’s Mini Cooper and burnt rubber nomadic tracks for Burning Man, with two mini kid bikes strapped to the back and a trunk jam-packed with a tent, sleeping bags, outlandish costumes (all of which were mine of course) food, bathing and general living supplies. We took the tike bikes along because the car wasn’t big enough for adult sized bikes and we needed something for festival transport. Cars are not allowed on the dusty sand-like “playa” of Burning Man unless they are permitted works of art, better known as art cars. Just like life, Burning Man relies on the individual. You are responsible and in charge of your experience. It’s not a place where you buy your supplies. You have to bring everything needed for a week of survival in the barren, uninhabitable desert flats. Burning Man does have a culture of giving, just for the pleasure of it. It was just like what I saw Kali Baba do back in Nepal. Once the giving gets going, it starts a chain reaction of more giving until it turns itself into its own gift economy.
Because the experiences Sam and I had, in and around our Burning Man adventure, could practically fill a graphic novel, I will cut to a brief story of synchronicity. In the daytime at Burning Man, Sam and I mostly took refuge under shade structures close to our campsite. We found one small geodesic dome about two minutes away that served fresh iced chai every afternoon for free, and that’s where Sam found some really cool comic books about cosmic elves. He could barely stand the heat so he sat there propped on throw pillows, reading about the elves and their galactic adventures on most days.
One morning, I left Sam to his elfish journeys and went to visit my dear friend Greg who just happened to be in the neighboring campsite. Greg was playing the part of a sage, reciting mantras and poetic verses on the fly about the beauty of life to those who passed by. As always, he was roused and professing his love for the oneness that is the world. I sat down and watched Greg prepare some kind of morning smoothie, made from cacao, coconut and something green. Knowing Greg’s habits, it was probably spirulina. One of his mystic cohorts was sitting with him and equally reflected Greg’s delight, with his crescent smile and tranquil movements.
I had my tin lunchbox with me with the face of the Hindu goddess Kali on one side and the Hindu god Brahma on the other. It was full of incense and yummy things to burn as offerings for meditation ceremony or to simply clear the air. I had brought some special amber tree sap for burning at the festival that I knew Greg would appreciate. Its smell had an aromatic zest, much like frankincense. I opened my lunchbox on the ground from where I sat. The lid clunked and rattled as I flung it to the ground, and within seconds, I heard “Little butterfly, it’s you! Putalee!” I froze and knew there was only one answer. Only people who have been to see Kali Baba (my guru who I studied with in Nepal) would know that name. Greg’s friend had sat with Kali Baba in Nepal, far away from Black Rock City, Nevada! I gazed at my lunchbox for a second and identified the trigger. It was a beautiful picture of Kali Baba smiling with big sun-lit dimples under the ancient tree next to his mud hut in Nepal. I had it attached to the inside of my lunchbox lid, which was appropriate since it contained all of my meditation gear.
I said, “So you’ve seen Kali Baba?” He said, “Yes! Kali Baba showed me a picture of you wearing butterfly wings and told me all about you. I was the first one to sleep in your house when its construction was finished.” Wow! This man had stayed in my Himalayan hut! During a short visit to Nepal, I paid for a small house to be built for when I returned, so I could have a space for myself when I revisited. I had witnessed the laying of the foundation, but then had to leave before the house was finished. When I met this well-traveled, bearded backpacker at Burning Man, I had only seen pictures of the finished product. It was a round house, pink from the dirt of which it was made, and it had a slate roof that was sectioned off like an umbrella. It was twenty feet in diameter and it looked like Bilbo Baggins himself lived inside.
I felt like I was on one of those hidden camera TV shows where someone jumps out and says, “Surprise! We were watching you the whole time!” It probably wouldn’t have surprised me if Kali Baba came leaping out in the flesh as we sat there. Kali Baba’s magic seemed to have no trouble finding me, even in places like this, so distant from his earthen home in the foothills of the Himalayas, in Nepal.
Just when I think I’ve seen it all… Out of the thousands of people who I could have run into at Burning Man, here was the guy who knew my Nepali name and had sat with my guru. Some folks at Burning Man definitely ingest recreational psychedelics, but it’s because of moments like these that I do not. Life is high and trippy enough in sobriety. Greg, who always seems to be around when these things happen to me, erupted in rounds of giggles and said, “So you’ve met li’l butterfly?” to his friend.
I ran back with arms and legs fluttering in glee to explain to Sam what happened in panting breaths. It was another sign reminding me of the interconnectedness of all my journeys and existence. Sam was amazed but had a hard time showing it. He was pale with a soar throat and runny nose that was progressively getting drippier throughout the day. With the heat, dust storms and fight to stay hydrated, Burning Man was not the best place to be sick. Sam asked me if we could leave, and I said yes, without hesitation. I wanted Sam to be comfortable, and honestly, I didn’t feel that great either. I had a hard time sleeping at the festival. No longer a night owl like I used to be, I would head to bed before the crowds, but the constant DJ base beats echoing and blaring from one direction or another, made slumber illusive. My earplugs weren’t cutting it and, after four nights of this, I was ready for something else.
As with every year at Burning Man, the effigy man himself is torched and burnt to a crisp at the end of the festival. This is the climatic moment that keeps people bubbling and pulsing with anticipation throughout the week. It’s truly ceremonial, symbolizing the destruction and purification that paves the way for new things to come. Being somewhat of a fire worshipper, I wanted to see the man burn, but finding a better situation for Sam was much more important. Flashy, dazzling endings don’t excite me as much as they used to. It’s what it takes to get there that I find the most fascinating and Sam and I had already done that.
Sam had taken the whole week off from work so, even though he wasn’t feeling great, we decided to take our time returning to Portland. Since it was conveniently located on the way home, we drove to the exact opposite of Burning Man’s climate; the dank and mossy shaded groves of the Redwood Forest nestled in the northern coastal region of California. This was another favorite nature destination of mine where I’ve frolicked many times. Yet again, this was another place that Sam had never visited and I was happy to expose him to the moisture, ancient air and grandeur of the colossal redwood trees. We didn’t stay too long, but we did go on an hour-long hike at the foot of those giants armored in thick spongy bark. The snappy air smelled of mulch and green life forms. There was no direct sun on the trail, only lace-patterned light that filtered through the dense mesh of the trees. An Ewok would have felt at home here with the gargantuan ferns and lichen that spread out like wall-to-wall carpeting on the forest floor. I took a picture of Sam looking up the length of a redwood tree trunk. The comparison in size made him look as small as a squirrel. Nature was so grand – we stood in awe.
We got back to Portland and I was truly amazed by how well Sam and I got along after a solid week together on the road. He was easy going, even when he was getting sick in the harsh conditions of the desert. He never whined, and even with the unusual challenges of Burning Man and life on the road, we maneuvered through it, smashingly well. I was thrilled at this development because as a constant traveler, I couldn’t foresee a successful long-term partnership if we weren’t able to enjoy each other’s company on the road.
