I GET IT!!
By Michael Dees
04.11.03
This was my second trip to the playa, but the first one that really
counted. When my best friend and I experienced the Burning Man community
in 2000, I never really "got it." I had read that everyone
was supposed to be a participant, but it never really sunk in what
that meant. We had constructed a simple plywood cutout cartoon dog
to pull behind our tandem bike, with a small ghetto blaster playing
"Who Let the Dogs Out" taped to the tow bar. Pulling it
along the Esplanade and down the streets of the city we got plenty
of laughs and comments like, "Hey, look out! There's a mad dog
chasing you," which was exactly our intent when we built it.
But still I felt like the dog was basically our entry ticket to the
show - it allowed us to observe the endless parade of strange people
and even stranger pieces of art. I was still just a spectator.
On our last night there, a Friday night, I almost started to get it.
After the weather repeatedly thwarted our attempt at an artistic statement
- we had planned to ignite our dog and pull him across the playa in
flames (another story in itself) - we finally gave up and had him
cremated at one of the small burn platforms. The wind and rain had
chilled everyone unexpectedly that night, so the burn platforms were
popular gathering places. As we placed our creation on the coals we
got a meager round of applause. When he burst into flame we could
feel the physical and emotional warmth increasing around the circle.
When the lady across from us raised her skirt to warm her backsides,
the sum of the evening's events hit me all at once, and I laughed
uncontrollably for the next several minutes. I was deliriously happy
beyond what the situation should have called for. Part of me was starting
to get it, but I still didn't consciously understand. We had decided
before our trip that we would leave Saturday morning to avoid the
choking traffic of the Sunday exodus. We figured "The Burn"
would be just another big bonfire, and we had seen plenty of them
before. What complete idiots we were to leave before the event's climax.
If we had stuck around just 12 hours more, I might have understood. When we returned in 2002 I was determined to learn something about
myself. I spent three months of my spare time designing and building
something I hoped would bring pleasure to others - a bicycle powered
seahorse that flaps its wings and sprays water out its mouth. It was
a great success. I got big smiles and hugs from almost everyone we
met, and I was starting to feel like a real part of the Burning Man
community. In talking with many of my new instant friends, I realized
they weren't just a bunch of weirdoes assembled here for my amusement.
They were all just like me - an average guy who periodically has to
shed the shroud of conformity we're all forced to wear in public,
and see what's under that calloused exterior. At Burning Man we put
on our thinner skins and open up more to strangers because we know
we'll be accepted without anyone even asking who or what we are, much
less judging us by our answers. There are no accountants, software
developers, fry cooks, or safety consultants here - just people connecting
with other people. On the night of The Burn we put on our finest costumes and further
disguise our outside world images. Then the first volley of skyrockets
bursts, drawing our attention to The Man, and we automatically emit
the OOO's and AHH's characteristic of any other fireworks show. But
when the Roman candles and fountains within The Man's skeleton ignite,
it somehow becomes more personal, and the passion within the crowd
focuses on the doomed figure. But doom and gloom are light years away
from this jubilant gathering. As the waterfall of fire cascades from
the top of the lighthouse, the crowd is illuminated physically and
emotionally. Within seconds The Man is aflame, and the visceral scream
of 29,000 people fills the desert night. At that moment the final
skin that separates us all is temporarily stripped away, and the emotional
plaque that clogs our souls is vaporized. At that moment no one is
trying to hide anything - we are all revealing our true inner feelings
amplified to many times their normal intensity. Not everyone is experiencing
exactly the same thing, but for a short time we are all driven to
total personal honesty, and we share its outward effects with all
those around us. The fire tornadoes that march one after another from the Burning Man
seem to feed on the raw emotion of the crowd, drawing it out of us
even more, and sending it skyward to rejuvenate the heavens. After
they launch their precious cargoes, the swirling smoke columns dance
with delight to the edge of the crowd, then rise to join their siblings
in the clouds above. As the flames die down and the man becomes a
pile of coals, we shuffle away to other celebrations. But we are repeatedly
drawn back to the ring, feeling its warmth and re-experiencing the
elation of The Burn. The Man may be only wood, metal and lights, but the sense of connectedness
and emotional catharsis his destruction brings are very real, and
represent the true value in this whole event for me. The fact that
this community is a totally artificial environment doesn't diminish
the feelings of good will and personal growth that I will carry back
to the real world. My spirit is alive and well! Also by this author: And the Dust Will Make You Free
Don't mind the dust, it's part of the scenery.
