Celebrating Hanukkah in the Middle of Christmas
(Yes, Parentheticals has been distracted by the holidays. But I’ve been *thinking* about blogging, doesn’t that count? Yeah. I know. I didn’t really think so.)
Anyway, today’s seasonally appropriate topic comes out of various experiences I’ve had over the last month with feeling especially aware of my Jewishness—and therefore, my outsider-ness—in the midst of a Christian-centered culture. It always comes up this time of year, when no matter what your beliefs about or relationship with Christ, the Christmas season is an inescapable cultural force. Most of the time I just go along with the inescapable force, and try to enjoy the ride from a tourist’s perspective (“look at the quaint local customs! Isn’t that pretty/heartwarming/fun? I can relate to that.”) I find my own comfort in the repetition of the seasonal decorations and activities, the familiar smells and sounds and tastes. Most (if not all) of these really have nothing to do with Christ or his birth, and I can enjoy them aesthetically without feeling attached to them, the same way I enjoy, say, a Taiko drum performance or Thai food.
But there are also times during the Christmas season where I am forcibly reminded that I am different, that my family is different—that as fun as all this holiday fuss can be, it is not *our* holiday, and no matter whether we join in the reindeer games or not, we are always on the outside. It’s not that I feel discriminated against, or repressed in any way—far from it, I’m always very grateful and appreciative of the way that in this place, at this time in history, I am generally free to believe what I want, worship how I choose, and observe the holidays I want to without fear of repercussion or repression. There’s something going on though, that’s more subtle, that I want to note and put out there.
Even when you are not discriminated against, there’s a specific discomfort in being in the minority: an awareness of one’s difference that is inevitably flavored by a history of persecution (even if the persecution itself no longer exists in overt or obvious form). Related to this, there’s also a specific discomfort in always having to the be the one who educates, who speaks up and says “hey don’t forget about me, I have my own experience, and don’t assume I’m always like you, because I’m not.” Deciding whether or not to educate the majority means deciding whether to expose oneself as different rather than “passing” (when passing is even an option—sometimes it’s not)—and sometimes we still hesitate to expose ourselves, because being “out” hasn’t always been so safe.
Let me illustrate with some recent personal experiences. At my kids’ elementary school, the first graders and their “buddy class” of fourth graders were scheduled for a December field trip to go caroling at a senior home. The class parent for the 4th grade class decided to put together a craft project in preparation for this trip, where all the kids made Santa hats with their names on them to wear during the caroling. Cute, right? Well sure...except for the fact that the Jewish kids (and there are actually at least 4 or 5 of them in first grade this year, strangely enough) don’t really “do” Santa, so that felt a little weird to some of the moms of those Jewish kids (myself included). We asked ourselves, was that appropriate? If not, should we say anything? Are we being over-sensitive here? It’s just decorative, getting into the “spirit of the season”, plus Santa really doesn’t have anything much to do with Christ either. What’s the harm?
Well, there’s no harm, really. The kids didn’t *have* to wear the Santa hats if they didn’t want to (and btw the Jewish kids decided they didn’t want to), and no one really cared who did or didn’t. The people planning the caroling did apparently include a Hanukkah song along with the Christmas carols and general winter-themed songs, which was inclusionary and thoughtful, for both the kids and the seniors. But the thing is, we Jewish families had to think about how we felt about the assumption that we’d just go along with the overall Christian imagery and customs, and furthermore we had to decide whether or not to make the class parent and teachers aware of the fact that their activities were potentially exclusionary. Should we just let it pass, we wondered, and be grateful that our kids were able to be part of something all together with their peers, even if that something didn’t technically “belong” to them? Or should we speak up, and highlight our different-ness, and potentially make things feel a little more uncomfortable, more divided? None of the other families had to think about any of this—it wasn’t even an awareness, let alone an issue.
I also did a presentation in the first grade class about Hanukkah, where I talked about the holiday’s history, and lit a menorah, and showed them how to play dreidel, and we served latkes. I’ve done this kind of presentation pretty much every year for one or the other kid’s classrooms. I had a fun time doing it (once an educator, always an educator!), and the kids always are open and interested in learning about new customs (Hanukkah is exotic and unfamiliar to most of them). But none of the other families had to decide whether or not to do some educating of the “majority” kids about what the “minority” kids were celebrating instead/alongside of the traditional Christmas customs. There was no risk for the other families to being “out” with their own customs and celebrations.
Let me be clear: I’m not complaining, and I’m not being all righteous about “why can’t the culture pay attention to meeeeeee?” But there’s still something here worth reminding myself (and others) about. I feel like my experience of being a minority in this way (not to mention a lifetime of being a woman in a man’s world) gives me a great deal more empathy and understanding of what it must be like to be a minority in other ways (a black in a white’s world, a queer in a straight’s world, a kid/senior in an adult’s world, a differently-abled person in a normatively-abled world, etc), and that kind of empathy is often what is sorely lacking between us humans (specifically, its lack leads to all kinds of discrimination and persecution and eventually atrocities). I think being a minority has been a tremendously helpful growing experience for me, and so I continue to speak out and educate others who don’t have the opportunity to experience minority status in some way in hopes that they too will be able to grow from it. The thing to remember is that most of us are a minority in some way or other, and even those of us who aren’t are perfectly able (if not always willing) to learn from others’ experiences in order to experience the same opportunity for growth that being a minority presents.
So here’s to hoping that in 2012 we all proactively look for opportunities to learn about and appreciate each other in all our multi-faceted glory, and to use what we learn to make the world a better place. (And on top of that, here’s wishing everyone a peaceful, joyous, and fulfilling winter holiday celebration of your choice...me, I'm gonna go light Hanukkah candles and eat some latkes!)
Once we bid farewell to the sunrise and the playa, we came down from the DJ booth and dragged ourselves back to camp and to the flurry of final camp breakdown and packing the car. I was exhausted by the time I finished packing everything back up again, but Isis really wanted to leave by 8am Sunday morning to beat the crazy exodus traffic. So we powered through, bolstered by a cool random hot air balloon sighting right above our camp and a final stop at Center Camp for coffee for Isis. Then we began the slow crawl out through Black Rock City and the dead zone between BRC and the highway.
Saturday was really our last day at Burning Man, since we were going to try to leave really early on Sunday morning, so there was lots to choose from to do. I chose to go off on a bike ride on my own in the relatively cool morning hours, leaving Isis to go do her own thing for a while. I biked around the playa for a while and saw some more art, but found myself really drawn back to the Temple, so I biked over there. (Side note: It was at this point I decided to name my bike “Shifty”, since it had the temperamental habit of randomly shifting into a new gear without provocation. But since everything there was so flat, I didn’t really mind, and in fact found it kind of entertaining.) I found a bench on one of the walkways connecting the main temple to one of the smaller outbuildings and sat there for a while, hanging out and being quiet with myself, trying to process some of the things that had come up over the last few days. I wrote in my journal, and eventually on the Temple itself. This time I wrote on the Temple “WE ARE ALL CONNECTED” along with a little drawing, and “NO ONE CAN MAKE ME FEEL INFERIOR WITHOUT MY CONSENT...AND I DO NOT CONSENT”. 
I wanted those concepts to burn up and send opposite messages to the universe—one was a wish for something that would come into being (the communal realization that we are all connected) and one was a wish for release (from the hold that others’ expectations have had over me). I also tucked one of my little freak flag cards into a crack in the wall, so that it would come into being in a big and hot and flame-tastic kind of way.
As we headed to the Man, I looked around and saw a really cool effect—practically the whole city was heading towards the Man, and since everyone was lit up in some way (both pedestrians and bikes, in addition to the art cars of course) there was this interesting kind of arterial pulsing effect, where from all sides rushes of light and movement were moving together, converging on the same point. There was a palpable feeling of excitement and anticipation but generally everyone seemed pretty peaceful and calm about the whole thing. Isis and I found a spot to spread out a blanket and sit down to watch, and though we chatted a bit with our neighbors, we mostly spent the pre-burn time appreciating each other (I feel like we have a super close and supportive bond now that we never would have had if it weren’t for Burning Man) and appreciating the transformational week we’d had so far, and talking about what we wanted to release and burn away (fear, anxiety, safety, smallness, expectations, and other stuff I don’t remember) along with the Man.
(presumably to make sure none of the crazy or drugged-up participants decided to do something crazy like charge the fire). In that ring, before the big burn, there were a bunch of fire art performances, which were beautiful and amazing to watch. The most amazing and impressive part was watching several people in full head-to-toe fire suits dancing around—I did not see how they could breathe in there. At some point there was a big cheer, which we only belatedly realized was because someone had activated the pulleys to make the Man raise his arms (we only figured it out because at some point after that we looked up and said “hey! The Man has his arms over his head! It wasn’t always like that...”). I loved that even the Man had his own transition, his own rite of passage from one state into another.
Eventually the burn began and it was truly spectacular and moving. It’s hard to describe it, because it wasn’t just the burn itself, it was also the surges of energy and emotion going through the crowd and within my own self as the burn went on. There were gorgeous, spectacular fireworks, big bunches of them, that went on for what felt like a really long time—longer than any firework show I’d ever seen (and easily rivaling Disneyland’s, which in my admittedly somewhat limited experience had set the previous record for the Best Fireworks Ever). And yes, there was an incredibly huge and impressive conflagration. I thought I’d seen a lot of fire when the Trojan Horse burned, but this, this was even yet more above and beyond—NOW I can safely say I have never seen so much fire in one place (and never hope to see as much anywhere else, as it would probably mean I was about to lose my life in the middle of a disaster zone). It was, and I don’t use this word lightly, epic. Epic and symbolic and mysterious and beautiful and powerful. It was awe-inspiring, in the sense that other kinds of big impressive natural vistas or forces of nature are. I felt very small and unimportant, but in a good way. But I also felt connected with everyone around me in some way, and that was comforting and uplifting.
We watched the Man burn and eventually fall down (with huge cheers every time a piece fell off or crumbled), and finally the people guarding the perimeter fell back and allowed the crowd to surge in and get close the fire. Isis was particularly drawn to the fire, so we spent a goodly time right at its hot-coals perimeter (though I hung back somewhat and talked to other people nearby.) Isis kept asking me what I wanted—get close to the fire? Go back to camp? Go elsewhere? And I was able to honestly reply that actually, I found everything was delightful. I realized then that this apparently was one of my super-powers (the ability to be interested and delighted by anything I chose to focus on, no matter what or where.)
I granted a wish using my blinky star wand for a man we’d been dancing with, and he gave me a button that said “exhale fear/inhale love”. We danced some more. We stayed up all night and eventually, exhausted but delighted, Isis and Christopher and I wrangled our way up to the DJ booth to watch the sun rise over the mountains and light up Black Rock City. It was beautiful, and we were feeling pretty light and serene and had that kind of dizzy, expansive giddiness you get when you’ve been up all night and the light comes again. I was sated, and satisfied, but also sad, watching that sunrise—because I felt the transition upon me, and I knew my burn was coming to a close (and I’d loved it so!) I would miss this wide open, starkly beautiful place, even with all its dust and heat. I would miss the unique, beautiful people we’d met and gotten to know (including those I’ve mentioned in addition to our truly wonderful camp neighbors Jerry and Christopher, Eric, Dina, Amy and even Left Nut and Right Nut). 
I would miss living at a different pace, in a world full of appreciation and art, exploration and discovery, creativity and joy, fire and fun. I was determined to hold on to what I could, but I knew that the vividness of experience would fade into memory, was already fading, and that made me wistful. I was already grieving, but grief is a rite of passage too, and nothing to be afraid of.
On Friday we had sort of a slow start to the day because of our late night the night before, but eventually I got myself together to go bike over to Center Camp to fetch us the ice we never got the day before. It was the first time there that I’d ridden my new beater bike (bought specifically for Burning Man), and it was pretty fun just cruising along the Esplanade with everyone else. The day was still relatively cool and it wasn’t particularly dusty, so riding was pleasant and I liked the feeling that I was getting to know my way around and recognize certain landmarks, as well as the people-watching.
Then I went over to Center Camp to get iced coffee (once you start it’s hard to stop) for both me and Isis. I drank mine down pretty quickly and then I went and got my bike and rode back to SSV while carefully balancing a shopping bag full of ice on one shoulder while holding a full travel mug of iced coffee in the other. I made it back safely and deposited the ice in the cooler and the coffee in Isis’ paws, then headed over to the SSV office for a shift as an office coordinator. 
We loosely agreed that we would aim for Center Camp so that I could hand out my freak flags and have a place for people to personalize them, but first we wanted to walk a little bit in the other direction down the Esplanade, because we hadn’t really gone that way yet and Isis wanted to find some friends at the Deep Heaven camp.
It was really a peak experience: I was sitting so comfortably and feeling so fine, swinging along with my butt just a few inches off the playa and my feet up in the sky chair foot sling, and mostly even in the shade since the car was between me and the sun (at least at first). People gave me lots of thumbs up and “nice!” and “oh yeah” as we rolled by. At one point I was tapping on the side of the passenger door of the van along with the music, and the guy sitting in the passenger seat was thumping the top of the door in syncopation with what I was doing. It was really fun, and satisfied at least a little of that drumming urge.
People took pictures of the two cars next to each other, and we listened to someone on top of the horned car read a poem about the Temple into a microphone so that everyone could hear it. (They were apparently doing some sort of mobile spoken word performance.) We eventually got going again and cruised by some more cool art, which I attempted to take artsy pictures of as we went by. Eventually we wound up somewhat near Center Camp, so we bid farewell to our ride and the other passengers (and I gave them all freak flags) and got off to go walk over to Center Camp.
and then found a good place to set up the coloring station for the freak flag giveaway. This was a nervous moment for me, because I really wanted to put my little baby project out in the world and yet I was a little afraid that no one would really care much about it. But I screwed my courage to the sticking point and took a bunch of flags and started approaching people to ask if they would like a freak flag...and almost all the people said yes! I invited people to personalize them too, and quite a few people took me up on it. At one point I had a small group of people all standing around at the same time, coloring and chatting and laughing and appreciating what they were doing, and I felt so great, like this project really was having an effect on people in a positive way, just like I had hoped. 
I was having fun waving all the flags around, they were having fun playing and drawing, everybody was happy. If only I had brought another 40 flags, I could have easily given them all away...and next time I will! I asked a few of them if I could take pictures of them with their freak flags, and you can see the results over on the official 
Then I had to figure out how to soap up my hair and body with the minimum amount of soap and rinse with the minimum amount of water from the shower bag hose, and then get my clean clothes on without getting immediately dirty again. 
Then I had to empty the bucket of gray water into an enormous gray water box outside the showers, and finally I was done. It was really a pain in the butt, but I must admit that after I had showered off nearly 4 days of playa dust, I felt a whole lot better.
It was full of drunk party people who all seemed to know each other, but we squeezed ourselves in a corner and mostly ignored everyone else while enjoying the tunes and cruising around the nighttime playa. One sour note (and there really weren’t many of these during the week, so I mention it here just for flavor) was that at one point when we stopped for a break, I stumbled over my wizard robe in climbing down from the car and fell and whacked the hell out of my thigh, ribs and shoulder/collarbone. I was able to shake it off though, and surprisingly enough, the next morning I could feel where the bruises were but it really didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as I’d feared it would. After getting on and off a couple of times and cruising around the playa, we eventually wound up at the Trojan Horse, along with practically every other art car and half of Black Rock City, because it was going to burn.
(A lot of the big art pieces are intended to be burned, but apparently there’s often one big one that gets its own big burn party, and the Trojan Horse was this year’s big one.)
It was an enormous fire, bigger than anything else I’d seen so far (but of course not as big as the burning of the Man). Every time something big happened, like the crumbling of the horse’s limbs or a big bunch of fireworks, the crowd cheered like crazy and people celebrated. It was wild and fun and beautiful. I kept marveling at how I’d never seen so much fire in one place before, nor would I probably ever see that much in any other place without being in fear for my life. Fire is so satisfying on a primitive level. It moves with such mystery and grace and deadly power—it is mesmerizing even in small amounts, and let me tell you it was even more so in such vast quantity.
We got off at one point to go visit the Temple again, and spent some quiet time listening to the bells again and walking around, reading what people had written and just generally soaking up the sacred energy of the place. I found a ballpoint pen someone had left behind and used it to write “I WILL RELEASE FEAR—I WILL BE A SUPERNOVA!” I liked the idea that the giant fire of the Temple’s burning would burn away the bindings of fear and anxiety that were keeping me small so I could be big and bright.
Wednesday night was probably the one night that I actually got a full night’s sleep the whole time I was out there, and it was a good thing too because I had had such a mind-blowing, epiphany-full day the day before, I really needed to recharge. When we got up on Thursday morning it was lovely and cool and quiet (not what I had expected in the desert, but at such high elevation, the nights are actually quite cool and it takes awhile to warm up again). We eventually got ourselves together and decided that this was the perfect day to be sparkly purple fairies and go visit Center Camp, both to check it out as its own interesting environment and to get ourselves some coffee and some ice, which are the only things actually sold as opposed to gifted at Burning Man (and only there at Center Camp or at the 3 o’clock and 9 o’clock plazas). So we got all dressed up and wandered over to Center Camp.
There was also all kinds of interesting art on the outside walls of Center Camp as well as inside it—we could have looked around forever but in what I was coming to experience as the general serendipitous flow of the Burning Man experience, we didn’t push to go see everything, just appreciated what came our way as we moved about on our way hither and yon. We got ourselves some iced coffee (now *that* was a fabulous sensual treat in the middle of the desert, plus a general treat for me since I’d been mostly off caffeine pre-Burning Man) and sat around a bit. I really liked the art around the coffee bar, which was a variety of cut-paper shapes collaged with images, combined with thought-provoking past-tense questions written all over them 
(questions like “What did it feel like to break free?” or “What was your desire?” or “What was it like when you finally arrived?”). 
After leaving Isis back at our tent and swapping out some supplies, I went out again to check out something close to our camp that I’d noticed the day before: the “Playa Name Help” booth on the other side of the Esplanade. I was intrigued with the concept of a Playa Name—since identity work was such a big part of my Burning Man mission, I really liked the idea of finding a name that might be able to condense and succinctly express at least some of the gifts and attitudes I was trying to bring to the fore in my life. But I didn’t want to just name myself—I wanted there to be some sort of external input too, something that could perhaps serve as a reminder or as a marker of the transformational experiences I was having/would have there at Burning Man. I wanted something I could relate to now as an expression of the “true” me, but which might also serve as an inspiration and a signpost towards something I could grow into. And look, here were some people whose gift to the community was just that—help figuring out the right name which could hold all that identity work and yearning. Sign me up!
People just lit up at the offered connection, and gave it right back by smiling or waving or commenting on something as they passed by. The culture of appreciation and the general culture of Burning Man made that easy to do, but it’s something to think about trying in other places too...just as an experiment to see what would happen. (Can enthusiasm save the world? Tune in tomorrow to find out!)
We all had a good time laughing and bantering and talking a little bit about ourselves to each other, and I was able to put my cute little parasol to good use to provide shade for at least 2 or 3 other people while we were talking.
I told him something about feeling like my lesson right then was to stop being afraid and keeping myself small, and giving myself permission to be the big bright star I knew I really was—and that if I could do this, I would hopefully be an inspiration to others who would then see what being a big bright star was like and want to be big and bright in their own ways.
I was giddy with excitement. I really liked the name—a supernova is something huge and hot and powerful, and it can be seen (and have an effect) from a distance, so it captured that ache I felt to bust out and be BIG and BRIGHT. The “super” part also connected with super-heroes and super-powers (both metaphors I’ve been drawn to lately) as well as the larger sense of community/the whole/the WE that I’ve been trying to actualize.
We decided to look around in some of the other side temples. The Temple of New Beginnings (water/Spring) was mostly empty, so we sat ourselves down to talk and enjoy the misters that had been set up in there. I told her about the Playa Name Booth experience, and we wound up sliding into a conversation about Judaism and our individual relationships to it. I realized as we talked that I was pretty comfortable and happy with Jewish values, rituals and recommended ways of being a good person (or at least with my own selective interpretations and applications of same). I felt good about being a link in the chain of “chosen” people who had kept alive specific traditions and ways of being, although sorrowful about the ways in which persecution and victimhood had led to specific kinds of group neuroses and counter-persecutions. We talked about going to check out the various Jewish-themed events over the next few days (e.g. the “Burn Mitzvah” or different kinds of Shabbat services)—sadly, we never did get to these. (Next time!)
Wednesday morning we got up around 8 and looked around Sacred Spaces Village a bit and then finished setting up our camp. We put up a big EZ-up shade shelter in front of our tent, and under that we put the hammock on a stand that Isis had brought with her. I also staked everything down, and arranged camp chairs and boxes so we had a sort of sitting area under the shade. The final touch was duct-taping up a couple of freak flags on the top of the shade structure. Although we’d initially envisioned having two tents and more room to set up, our camp setup actually worked out to be quite cozy and pleasant—we spent a lot more time at our tent than we’d thought we would! While I was puttering around camp, Isis went to an energy healing session she’d signed up for. When she came back, we figured out the day’s costumes (I finally got to wear my custom-made shiny red lace pants!) and set out to explore. Isis wanted me to meet Ammo, the guy who’d done the energy healing for her, and he introduced us to Jai, who was running one of the spaces affiliated with but just outside the main Sacred Spaces Village: the Sacred Spaces Pod.
When I found her, both Isis and I were feeling pretty beat, so after a few snacks we went looking for a chill space in SSV where we could sit for awhile. The main space was full, so we poked our heads into the Temple of Manifestation, one of the side spaces that led off the main space of SSV. (There were four of these—each was a geodesic dome temple dedicated to one of the four elements of air/earth/fire/water, as well as a particular kind of energy: ancient wisdom/manifestation/passion/new beginnings, respectively.) The space was mostly empty, except for a couple of women and a bunch of pillows and rugs. We asked if we could sit for awhile in there, and one of the women told us sure, but that they were about to start a workshop in a few minutes: a women’s circle. We looked at each other and said “women’s circle? We’re women, sounds good!” and sat down. Little did we know that this serendipitous decision was about to lead us to an incredibly powerful experience.
When the meditation was over we shared what we’d found, and there was a lot of strong feeling and realizations that came out for everyone. Many of us had been feeling restrained and afraid, not true to ourselves, and many of us (myself included) spoke about the need to conquer fear with courage, and to surface and encourage our true inner gifts. Some spoke about needing to heal relationships, heal ourselves, connect more deeply with others. There were tears, and smiles, and gratitude for this place of deep feeling we had created together. We ended feeling really open and connected and reluctant to leave, but eventually everyone did trickle out. Isis went back to our campsite but I stayed and talked with the facilitator for awhile, and then when I went out to the main SSV area I found there was a whiteout (dust storm) going on outside—I could see it when I looked at the openings in the main tent, and I was reluctant to go out in it. So I stayed in the main chill area for a while, writing in my journal and listening to some people perform energetic and beautiful Hare Krishna music and watching the ecstatic dancers that were grooving to it. Eventually the dust died down and I made my way back outside to our tent.
So she gave me the official form to fill out, and then I made myself a sign that said: “Because by knowing ME I can help actualize WE” (I hadn’t yet assimilated all the epiphanies I’d had or that were yet to come, or I might have said something different. From where I stand now, a few days past the end of Burning Man, I’d probably say something like “Because I’m a freaky supernova”—but more on that later.) Dina took my picture right there in our campsite, with me waving one of my freak flags and holding my sign. 
We did see some really cool art along the way (one of our favorites was an open dome that you could walk into, and above you were a bunch of lit up white umbrellas, and dangling from the umbrellas were strings of white lights that flashed in a way that made it look like it was raining), but it was the Temple that really drew most of my attention that night. It was such an amazing thing—a temporary, meant-to-be-burned construct, that was nonetheless huge and solid and well built and incredibly lovely. It was in some ways set up like our Sacred Spaces Village was—there was one big central room, which went up several stories and was capped with a dome, and then there were four smaller temples that surrounded it, each connected to a side of the main Temple with a covered walkway. Each of the smaller Temples had its own theme--I’m not sure I really experienced any of the smaller spaces enough to name them, but I know they all had specific themes and their own altars and decorations around that theme.
One of the other cool things about the Temple was that people wrote all over it, everywhere they could reach. In pen, in pencil, in sharpie, with paint, whatever they had. But what was written here was no ordinary, self-centered or purposely offensive graffiti—most of it was soul-baring, poignant messages of loss or grief (things like “I miss you Dad” or “Jennifer, I’m sorry we never made it work out, I’ll always love you) or statements of epiphany and intention (e.g. “we are all connected” or “resist” or “I am not afraid”). People left personally meaningful messages to each other or to the Universe that were specifically meant to be burned up and released or activated in some way. 
As the week went on there were more and more messages, and some people brought additional artwork or bits and pieces of things to leave at the Temple’s base or on its walls or in one of the little side Temples until it was thickly covered with this additional layer of meaningful self-expression.
The fact that one is able to see such a long ways away because everything is really dark and really flat made for a new and fascinating kind of gallery/exhibit experience that I’d never encountered anywhere else. In other words: I realized that each of these individually fantastic, big, bright (and often mobile and therefore constantly changing) art pieces combined together to form an even bigger fantastic, big, bright and beautiful experience, one which shifted depending on your perspective and one which you could literally only have in a place like this. I fell in complete love with the nighttime playa from that moment on.
I had a moment of squee just realizing that hey, the place that *I* was staying was big and bright and beautiful and one of the landmarks on the Esplanade. (I might not always want that experience, but for this year as a newbie it felt kind of cool.)
So after much conversation and intention setting, Isis and I finally arrived at Black Rock City (which is what we call the city that springs up every year around Burning Man) early Tuesday evening, almost two days into the event. It took us about an hour or two to get ourselves to and through the gate, which was frustrating at first but then we realized why it was taking so long. Not only do you have to show your ticket and let them search your car (no big deal really), but also they have a welcoming committee that you pass through, who pull you out of the car and give you hugs and tell you “welcome home!”, make sure you know where you’re going. And if you’re new, like I was, they get you to lie down in the dust and make a “playa angel” and ring a big bell. (I turned down the playa-angel-making experience, because I was just not yet ready for the dust. They didn’t force it.) We knew where Sacred Spaces Village was (4:15 and Esplanade, which was actually right on Black Rock City’s “Main Street” and therefore a pretty awesome home base) but even after wandering around a bit, we had a really difficult time accessing it by car. You’re not supposed to drive on the Esplanade, but we finally gave up and did so, just so we could get ourselves close to where we were supposed to be. We found the Sacred Spaces Village camp, but couldn’t find the people who were supposedly in charge of checking us in, so we waited around for a while as it got dark. Isis went inside the main chill space so she could lie down, and I waited with the car. Finally a lovely soul named Aaron arrived to take care of us. He welcomed me home (I love it how that simple phrase, which I heard many times while I was there, encompasses so much about community and identity) and then helped me figure out where we might be able to put our car and where we could pitch our tent. He even stayed with me to help direct me as I drove the car (slowly, cautiously, against the night traffic) to the camping spot, and made sure we got ourselves settled.
By then it was close to midnight, but I really couldn’t go to sleep without at least taking a brief look around. I found my costume bin and dug out a crazy yellow fish hat and bright orange shirt and stripy scarf, and put them on. Then I grabbed my Camelbak backpack and walked out the front door of our camp, which faced the open playa with the Man in the middle of it.
Then I reasoned that I couldn’t go to sleep without visiting the Man, so that’s what I set out to do. On the way there, I stopped by an incredible lit up sculpture of a willow tree (yes, it looked kind of like the tree from Avatar). I was trying to take in all the people and the space and no one particularly interacted with me except for one guy who came up to me while I was looking at the tree and said something like “oh look, she’s here!” I looked at him with some puzzlement because I wasn’t sure if he was referring to me or not, but he repeated himself with a big smile so I answered him “yes, I am.” It was one of those brief moments that at the time didn’t seem particularly important but in hindsight takes on more meaning.
It gave me a place to sit and look and take it all in, and a place that others could come to interact with me if they wanted (a few people did come to sit with me, but I don’t remember any particularly memorable interactions). After awhile of sitting there and taking in the scene, I could feel myself getting pretty tired, so I headed back to Sacred Spaces Village.