What is the opposite of Burning Man? That is what I am. I liked being inspired by the artists and the trance-ey dancers and the bike culture—but the physical conditions were so hard for me! I wish it could all be done at the beach, or by a cold, clear Loch.
We've been away, I have not written because I have been trying to be a Burning Man Lady. I am definately not cool enough to be there, but somehow I snuck in and hung out for a few days to watch the beautiful, free ones.
Yes, I took my children, and yes, the four year old had an amazing time with his Burning Man Aba. The baby and I spent a lot of time running down the battery in the RV.
Still, I got to see some amazing things: a huge temple dedicated to forgiveness, made of thin wood on which everyone was writing their messages to the dead. I wrote a message to my darling Grandma—Mary Patricia, who died last year. I miss her, and the last time we saw each other was hard. Later, like all the art (or most of it) it was burned down.
One night I saw a huge line of enourmous propane torches, blasting off massive plumes of fire in some kind of musical pattern. I saw a pirate ship sailing the playa dust, and a set of cupcake cars. I saw thousands of people on their bikes, looking so beautiful. And the dancing, the thumping techno trance music. I'm definitely more of a Marvin Gaye appreciator, but there was something I got into with the pounding bass, after a while. And the best part was, it was blissfully safe (almost no cars!) so I could actually strap Rye on my back and ride my bicycle around. Not something I can do in the city.
A low point: when I ventured off for myself for an hour and got caught in a whiteout dust storm. I could not see six inches in front of my face, and as I stood trying deserately to figure out where to go, drunk people drove their art cars around in total disregard of other people's safety. I was terrified that I would be run over in that weird way you fear for yourself as a parent and it's really fearing how your death would effect your kids. All I could think about was the groaning stupidity and tragedy for my boys of me getting killed by a motorized cupcake on the playa at Burning Man.
But it turns out they were ok, and not caught in the dust like me. And I was ok too, after an hour of groping towards Kidsville and home. I felt really vulnerable when I got back to safety. I was caked in dust in a way I have never experienced before, my hair and eyebrows and eyelashes and tongue. I felt a lightheaded sense of having escaped real danger. No one was at the camper when I got there, and I was almost physically sick as I thought of G out in the dust with the two boys. So weird to choose to put oneself in this kind of a situation. Aren't people supposed to grow from this sort of thing? Hmmmm.
Well, it sure made for groovy photographs:
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